


Dragon Age: Legacy

by specimen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:59:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specimen/pseuds/specimen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the start of the mage rebellion in Kirkwall, Garrett Hawke decides it might be best for he and his apostate extremist boyfriend out of town. Naturally, strange things seem to crop up no matter where they go; more signs of red lyrium, hushed whispers about a new god, and rumours of an Exalted March detract Anders and Hawke from their path.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kingdom Come

Kirkwall, like nug meat, is an acquired taste. It had its problems even before I got there, but it seems as though my mere presence drew out the worst in people. Luckily for me, I made a few friends to help me combat a horde of crazed fanatics and the odd blood mage. Oh, and a high dragon too.

Varric Tethras is one of them and, frankly, you’d probably be better off reading his account on my life in Kirkwall. He’s good with words and such. And, honestly, I'm not. I hadn’t been gone long and I was already starting to miss him. I thought about The Hanged Man and all its drunken glory. I imagined Varric sitting at one of the tables with a pint held tightly in his hand as he waved it around, telling some wild tale about my exploits to whatever drunken lout would listen.

I also thought about Carver. He hadn’t been too excited about my involvement in what happened with the Chantry, but it wasn’t like _I_ was particularly excited about being involved in it either. In the end...well, I wasn’t going to kill the love of my life to satisfy the whims of an angry mob. Even if my little brother was one of them. Even if it meant his promise to never speak to me again so long as Anders still lived.

But I could go down the list of everyone and everything I miss all day. I could probably take up a whole year’s worth of nostalgia, if it weren’t for the fact I couldn’t actually just sit around and take frequent trips down memory lane.

No matter what I say or how I say it, the fact remains: my time in Kirkwall has come to an end. It came to an end the moment I spared Anders’s life and decided that I would sooner die by his side out in the wilds than I would another moment in that city without him. With a city so fresh with horror from a civil war, it was clear to me that safety was no longer optional.

Not that I'm a man of many regrets. To be honest, I never thought much of the Circle, even before all of this began. Then again, I also never thought much about running for my life in some godforsaken swamp, so I’m not entirely sure what I think much about has any effect on anything at all. In spite of what I thought about any particular situation, these were things that chose exactly now to cross my mind.

I sometimes wonder if things might have been different had I chosen another path. The Chantry was destroyed, and the Circles were breaking all over Thedas. A rebellion was clear on the horizon, threatening to swallow the world into an undoubtedly bloody war.

Was Anders worth all this toil? I thought as my mud-covered (and filled) boots made a sickening ‘squish’ into yet another puddle.

The resounding, earth-shatteringly answer was a very pointed, very decided yes. Anders was worth all this _including_ the mud squishes, yet for as little thought I put toward the Circle and marsh-lands, I threw even less into such sappy self-speculation.

My hand grasped a branch as I ripped myself away from my own thoughts, and I used it as leverage to pull my legs out of the mud.

“Sodding, disgusting, sod!” I spat bitterly. This must have been a lovely sight -- the Champion of Kirkwall struggling to pull his boot from the mud.

Just as I was about to begin reminiscing about Wounded Coast, my foot was finally jarred free from the ground with a loud noise I could only describe as ‘SCLUGH.’

_Ugh._

But my victory was short-lived as I realised that while my foot was free, my boot was not. I groaned internally as I reached down and began the relentless game of tug-o’-war with the earth. If I had not been so determined to retrieve that blasted thing, I might have been quick to attack the source of the low chuckle that came from behind me. I scowled to myself as recognition hit me.

“No, no, it’s _fine_ ,” I said loudly. “I’ll just stand here and wait to be eaten by some hideous ogre while you _laugh_ at my plight.”

“It serves you right,” Anders replied, a tone of amusement touching his voice. “I told you not to stray from the path, but what did you say?”

“I said that this was a quicker way and I was right.” My indignation knew no bounds, even in the face of defeat.

“Uh-huh. And how long do you suppose you’ve been trudging away out here?”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you over the sound of your _nagging_.” Another laugh.

Maker, if Anders wasn’t so bloody handsome, I might have taken my other boot off and thrown it right at his undeniably smug face.

Fortunately, the boot did eventually come free, though it did take quite a lot of coaxing and a few promises I don’t intend to keep to the Maker. Unfortunately, Anders was correct after all; straying from the path might have actually been quicker, yes, had it not been for the wetted ground determined to eat up anyone who might weigh more than, say, a piece of paper. I suppose this is the price you pay when you decide to run away with your terrorist apostate boyfriend.

“We aren’t far,” he assured me. Speaking of terrorist apostate boyfriends. Apparently, my face decided to betray my privacy and put my worry on display. I glanced at him and forced my mouth into a confident smile, though I’m sure it looked more like I was pleading him to believe me when I spoke again.

“Of course we aren’t! It’s only been four days since we last saw signs of civilisation and that turned out to be an abandoned cottage in the wood filled with beetles,” I said.

“At least it wasn’t filled with Templars -- or demons,” he replied.

“Touché, though I must say at least demons and Templars provide us with some conversation. You know, before they try to stab or possess us.”

“I always forget which one does what,” he said. His remark only made my smile widen.

“I think it’s the demons that do the stabbing,” I said.

“Ah, that’s right, and it’s Templars that do the possessing!”

Maker, I missed this. Even if we were stuck out in the middle of nowhere with sore legs and wet boots, at least he was smiling again. He was in such a grim disposition so often now I'd nearly forgotten what he looked like when he was happy.

 

Two days passed before we finally came across signs of life. A cluster of small farm houses squared off by little fences that really shouldn’t be able to hold in those giant beasts in their fields and yet persevered in spite of it. We didn’t dare approach them at night, though, given the current mood toward mages and all. Instead, we made camp far enough away to keep out of sight without actually losing our view of the homes.

The fire crackled angrily at me as I tossed the hefty branch into the pit, and the action seemed to also earn the ire of my companion.

“Hawke, it won’t burn if it’s still wet,” Anders said, exasperated. I scoffed; it wasn’t like we were in danger of losing all source of fire. We could still make fire with our _hands_ , for Andraste’s sake.

I didn’t say that, of course. I did value my life after all.

“I’m going to go see what there is we can eat,” I said as I flung my quiver over my shoulder.

“Don’t suppose you could find something edible?” he asked, hopefully.

“Are you implying nugs are not edible?”

“No, no...it’s just that they’re so…”

“Horrible?”

“I was going to say _terrible_ but I suppose that’s the same thing, really.”

“Yes, I’ll try to find something that _isn’t_ tiny and hairless and generally terrible in every way.” I laughed and chucked another branch into the fire, earning another exasperated sigh.

 

Trekking off into the woods was not exactly what I’d call the best way to spend one’s evening, but neither was being hungry. I carried my bow by my side, occasionally adjusting the quiver lazily hanging off my shoulder to relieve the pressure caused by the leather straps digging into my skin.

If we were being completely honest with ourselves, we might have admitted that we weren’t entirely sure _where_ we were going. Varric’s letters alluded to a Seeker trying to hunt me down -- and not Anders, apparently -- and that seemed enough reason to just keep going. Blindly forward was better than falling back into some trap, anyway.

I ducked quickly before my head got clipped by a low-hanging branch, and I briefly wondered what Antiva was like. Or even Nevarra. Or Tevinter -- no, wait, I know what that’s like. All blood magey and demony. Maybe Anders would like it there, but I wasn’t keen on the strongly worded letter we were sure to receive from Fenris. Orlesians wore weird masks all the time, didn’t they? Maybe that’s where we need--

Suddenly, I lost my footing and my legs gave slightly as I slid quickly down a small ravine -- then a strong, putrid stench dug into my nostrils and assaulted my senses so hard I could taste it. I quickly brought one of my hands up in an effort to ward off the smell, but it was too late. I fought off the dizziness the sudden onslaught of disgust my body was being thrown into as I focused my attention on exactly where the scent was coming from.

“Maker’s breath,” I cried as my gaze landed on the dismembered corpse of a...man? No, larger than that, and it had..horns? Yes, those were definitely horns and not pigtails on its head.

“What’s a Qunari doing here?” The question was directed to no one in particular. I dared to inch closer to the body, holding back the sick that teased the back of my throat while I took in the sight. He had been ripped apart not only by each limb, but also from his stomach and chest. Although I could barely see it, a look of surprise was frozen on his face.

Whatever had done this had done it so quickly and viciously the Qunari must barely have had time to register what was happening.

I might have remained there to do a bit more investigating, had it not been for my weak constitution. The stench was so strong and the rot so visible that I found it difficult to remain in its presence any longer than I already had. I looked around, squinting in the dark to make sure I was truly alone. Besides a lone creek, that seemed to be the case. The Qunari was far enough away from the farmland that it was no wonder he’d sat out here rotting so long, but I couldn’t help wondering how _no one_ seemed to have come this way with a stream so close by.

With my hand still pressed firmly against my mouth and nose, I had no choice but to get as far away from the corpse as possible. I turned away from it and began my trip back to camp, thankful for putting distance between it and myself.

Unfortunately, the stench still lingered stubbornly in my nostrils.

 

“Are you sure it was a Qunari?” Anders asked after I’d explained what I saw -- and why I didn’t come back with food. His expression was a mix of incredulity and consideration.

“ _Yes_ ,” I repeated for maybe the fifth time since he had asked me that same question.

“The horns sort of gave him away, though I suppose it could have just been a very large anthropomorphic bull.”

“And it was gutted?” He continued, ignoring my glib remark.

“Not just gutted -- ripped apart entirely, Anders. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He fell quiet as he seemed to be thinking over everything I had just told him. For a moment, I worried that he didn’t believe me. Surely he didn’t think I was so set on covering up my failure in obtaining dinner that I’d actually _lie_ about something like that? I wasn’t as sorry as I should have been for coming back empty-handed, admittedly, but he had to have more faith in me than that.

“Show me,” he said. His request didn’t exactly surprise me, though I did get a mild sense of dread over it. I had no doubt in Anders’s resolve against that terrible smell but I knew my limitations and frankly, the very thought of going back toward the corpse made my stomach flip upside down.

I steeled myself and pushed all the dread out of my mind, sternly reminding my body that I was a grown man. Although I did decide it was perfectly acceptable to bring along the flask of rum from my knapsack.

 

Somehow, the way back to the corpse felt more dreadful than I had thought it might. That couldn’t have been just from the smell of it though -- I’d smelled worse, like the sewers in Darktown, or Gamlen’s house on a hot summer’s day. No, somehow this felt...different. Worse, in a way, than heading into the Deep Roads. At least I knew what was likely awaiting us in the Deep Roads, yet I knew nothing about whatever killed the Qunari.

I could feel the anxiety ball up in my stomach as we got nearer; I clutched my bow tighter, shifted my quiver so that it was easier to grab an arrow. We walked in silence, which I was both thankful and irritated over. Anders appeared to be concentrating as well, and the only sound that accompanied us was the sound of our boots crunching across dried grass and broken twigs.

Yet it occurred to me quite suddenly -- something was _terribly_ wrong. There was no stench, and yet I knew without a doubt that this was the exact path I’d taken to the corpse. As we approached the ravine, I could see the marks in the ground where I had slipped and slid all the way down to the corpse. Except…

“Where is it?” Anders asked, stopping just short of the ravine’s edge and peering into the dark.

“That’s not -- it _can’t_ be!” I said. I stepped forward and carefully slid down the side of the small gorge. When I reached the bottom, I kicked aside some rocks and leaves, as if I expected the body to be hidden beneath them. I turned around and around, frantically searching the dark as I tried to make sense of what was going on.

“No, it was _here_ ,” I insisted. “Anders, I _know_ what I saw -- Maker, I could TASTE it! Not literally, but...the stench of it...”

“I believe you,” he murmured. “But what could anyone possibly gain by hiding a body after it’d been discovered?”

“I don’t know but they’re going to receive a scolding with my fists if I catch them,” I said loudly.

“Well, there’s nothing more we can do tonight,” he said, standing up and brushing his hands off on the sides of his robes. “We should head back to ca--”

Oh, for Andraste's sake, no. Not an abrupt stop mid-sentence. I turned quickly, my bow raised and ready, but my fingers had only just grazed the feathers to my first arrow when I saw the shimmer of a blade placed dangerously close to Anders’s neck.

“Drop it, archer,” a woman’s voice commanded. She wore no armour, but her sword and shield bore the oh so familiar Templar sigils.

“And the arrows, and your blades.” I did as she said, unwilling to risk losing Anders. After I tossed aside my bow, quiver, and the two blades from my belt, I slowly raised my hands up above my head so that she could see for herself how incredibly disarmed I was.

“There’s no need for that,” I said, putting on my very friendliest of voices. “Trust me when I say he’s not going to hurt you.” Hopefully Anders knew that was just a much a plea to her as it was to him.

“I’m no fool -- I know a mage when I see one,” she snapped. Well, that was going to make this significantly less easy than I was hoping for.

“Yes, that’s true, but he’s a very _nice_ mage,” I said.

“Enough. Why are you and this monster on my land? I demand you tell me at once,” she said. I kept my eyes locked onto Anders’s neck, watching how carefully he swallowed with the blade pressed gently against his skin.

“We’re just passing through and we went looking for something to hunt for food. We have a camp not more than fifty yards away.” There was no lying to her, not with Anders’s life on the line. I licked my lips and gulped slightly, my mouth suddenly much drier than it had ever been before.

“You’re not from around here, then?” she asked. I knew what she meant.

“No -- we’re from Ferelden,” I said.

“Where in Ferelden?”

“Lothering.”

“Do you take me for a complete imbecile? Lothering was destroyed during the Blight, nine years ago! Tell me the truth or I’ll--”

“You’ll what?” Anders’s voice suddenly boomed. _No, no, no!_ I could see the cold blue glow begin to enshroud him as Justice began its merciless takeover of his body. The moment her head turned to look at him, I made my move -- I scooped up my bow and arrow and fired off a rapid shot, knocking the sword from her hand in time to see Justice advance on her, causing her to stumble back and onto the ground.

“You’ll kill me?” Justice bellowed. I shot forward and crawled up the ravine quickly, practically leaping to stand in-between him and the woman.

“Anders, STOP!” I cried. “Take control of yourself before you kill another innocent!”

“ _INNOCENT_?” Justice roared. “She is Templar scum! She stands against us!”

“Because we’re trespassers on her land!” I yelled in return. “She’s only protecting her own -- much like we would protect ourselves! Do not be the monster she expected to find in you, please!”

I’m not sure what triggered it, but whatever I said managed to get through to him. The glow began to fade away, slowly until it was gone entirely. Anders let out a shuddering breath and stumbled back against a tree. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold him steady, but instead I turned my attention to the woman still rooted in her spot.

 

The moon provided enough light to show me she was dark-skinned, with a pretty face and a smaller frame than I thought she had. I suppose from my view below her it might have helped my belief she was some sort of giantess, but that (thankfully) didn’t appear to be the case. Her eyes were wide and frantic, wild with fear as she stared in horror at Anders. Black, curly hair looked more unruly than it probably usually was, with a few leaves hanging from the ends around her face.

“So...anyway...hello there,” I said, giving a nervous laugh. “Why don’t we start again? I’m--”

“Stay away from me!” she shrieked, jerking her head to look at me in terror. I tossed aside my bow once more and held up my hands.

“Yes, alright, there -- see? Totally safe!” I said. I waved my hands back and forth slowly, and she watched them with such a trepidation I’m sure she thought I would suddenly produce a fireball and attack her.

“My name is Hawke,” I said. “This is Anders. I wasn’t lying when I said that we’re just passing through. We’re heading for--”

“Wait, you’re the Champion?” She didn’t seem as frightened as she had been a moment ago, and I counted that as progress.

“Oh...so you _have_ heard of me then? All the way out here?”

“Everyone knows who you are. Just like everyone knows who…” her eyes trailed back to Anders. He was still using the tree as support, and I glanced back at him. He refused to meet my gaze.

“It’s not what you think,” I said, looking back at her. “Please, you mustn’t tell _anyone_ we met.”

She paused and looked at Anders for a long time, her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared him down. It felt like an eternity passed, with nothing but our breaths to fill the silence, before she finally spoke again. She tore her gaze away from Anders and looked down at the ground in front of her. Then, she stood up and began brushing herself off, her lips thinning as she seemed to carefully consider something.

“My name is Artemis,” she said slowly. “You can stay in my home for the night.”

 

Artemis walked with us back to our makeshift camp and watched us closely as we packed our bags. I stomped out the remaining embers from the fire we’d started, and turned in time to see her hand fly to the hilt of her sword as Anders picked up his staff. Either he didn’t notice how nervous she was, or he was simply trying very hard to be polite -- regardless, he remained silent was we followed her down into the tiny hamlet.

“My father lives there,” she said quietly as we passed the first cottage to our right. “He’s practically the mayor here, even though we don’t really need one. He keeps the farmers and the livestock safe.”

“How kind of him,” I said, trying not to sound as disinterested as I truly was. My eyes felt heavy as the realisation that I hadn’t been able to sleep yet began to nag the back of my mind. I looked at Anders and quietly judged him for being able to stay awake without any apparent ill-effects. Other than almost killing someone, of course.

“This is my house,” Artemis said, cutting through my thoughts. There wasn’t much to take in -- it looked like she had one of the smallest homes in the area, which was saying something given how practical the others seemed to be. My eyebrows raised slightly as I bit back the urge to comment on two grown men not quite fitting into such a tiny home.

When she looked to us, I managed to let out an ‘ahh’ sound and a slow nod, hoping beyond hope it sounded and looked like approval.

The immediate impression of her home was that it was very rustic. Or very quickly thrown together. Or both. While it didn’t look like it’d blow down from a gust of wind, it certainly didn’t look like the first place I’d go running to in the event of an emergency. Still, I suppose beggars couldn’t be choosers, especially given that she could change her mind at any moment,

“You two can sleep on the floor, here,” she said, motioning to a patch of a not-quite-as-dirty bit of the ground. “I’ll grab you a blanket.”

“‘A’ blanket?” Anders asked, speaking for the first time since he had suppressed Justice. Artemis only stopped for a moment before shooting us a cautious look.

“Everyone knows the Champion ran away with...with you,” she said, hesitating only slightly on her choice of words. Both Anders and I knew exactly what most people called him these days. “Amaranthine’s not far from here. Sometimes I go and...listen to the minstrels.”

I allowed myself a cheeky grin. Varric had told me what the songs had been about and, much to Anders’s horror, they had been _very_ romantic. And a little bit naughty. Artemis seemed to catch onto the body language both of us had, with Anders’s proverbial feathers puffing up and my own victorious smile, and quickly set about grabbing a spare pillow and a large blanket for the both of us.

“I’ll wake you in the morning. My father can’t know you’re here, or else he’ll send word to the Templars,” she said.

“Well, we can’t have that,” I said, shrugging off the knapsack and quiver from my shoulders. “Thanks for putting us up for the night. I know we may not seem it but...we’re both grateful for your help.”

Artemis eyed me for a moment, as if she was searching for something, until she gave me a curt nod and closed the door to another room. I turned to Anders, wondering if now was perhaps the time to talk to him about what Justice had almost done to our host. But the tired he felt was worn plainly on his face. I remained silent as we both settled onto the ground, throwing the blanket over us both and wrapping my arms around him from behind. For the first time in the past few weeks, I slept soundly that night.


	2. Bloody Mary

I awoke to the sound of shuffling feet and the distant chatter of farm animals. I groaned inwardly to myself as I brought a hand up to cover my face, to try and ward off the assault of sunlight. It occurred to me rather quickly, however, that I seemed to have more space to move my arms around than I had given myself the night before. _Where’s Anders?_

The thought jostled me from sleepiness and I bolted upright, standing in only a second and looking about wildly.

“Anders?” I said cautiously, careful not to raise my voice too loud. No response, and I felt my heart begin to beat harder in my ribcage. I moved toward the room Artemis had gone in the night before and slowly pushed it up, slipping a blade from my belt and holding it behind my back. Just in case I needed to kill someone.

“Anders?” I said again. “Artemis?” No one answered me, and I was starting to a bit sick. Had her father discovered them? And if so, why hadn’t anyone woken him? The thoughts began to race through my mind at break neck speeds, so fast I could barely keep up with them myself, when something weighed down on my shoulder.

I reacted instinctively, spinning around to grab their arm with my free hand while the one holding the blade stopped just short of slitting their throat open. To my surprise, Artemis was staring at me, wide-eyed with her mouth slightly agape.

At this rate, this was a look we were going to have caused to permanently reside on her face. I let go of her quickly and slipped the dagger away, clearing my throat and doing my best impersonation of someone who didn’t just have the wits scared out of them as well.

“I was looking for Anders,” I began, sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to almost behead you...er, sorry about that.”

“I-I thought not,” she said nervously. “Anders is right outside. My father left for Highever this morning, to speak with Teryn Cousland.”

“Oh,” I said. “Imagine that. How...how convenient.” Was it _too_ convenient? I couldn’t help but to wonder the timing of everything.

“But what about the other farmers?” I asked. “Wouldn’t they notice a pair of strangers hanging about?”

“Don’t worry about them -- I’ve told them you’re both from Amaranthine, working for the Chantry.” She waved her hand dismissively as my eyebrow raised some. I had my doubts that the story would hold up, but then I’d heard crazier things in my time. Kirkwall was no stranger to oddity, after all.

“There’s breakfast,” she added quickly. “I have bread and cheese, and some sausage as well.”

I blinked away my surprise, but instead of questioning where the sudden eager to please attitude came from, my stomach let out a deep rumble. I stepped outside and walked over to where Anders was sitting, taking my place next to him on the same log. He was holding a plate full of half-eaten food, and one glance at his face told me all I needed to know.

“Oh, Maker, if you only knew what you looked like when you get like this,” I said, shaking my head.

“Get like what?” he asked, furrowing his brow as he turned to look at me.

“Like this -- all _contemplative_ and such,” I said, leaning toward him slightly. “Your nose gets all wrinkled up and your forehead pinches in the middle.”

He gave me a scoff in reply, stabbing one of the sausages with a fork and taking a bite from it. I smiled coyly as I watched him eat, my own mouth beginning to water. All thoughts of the nasty corpse from last night fled my mind as I hungrily eyed his place. He must have caught me daydreaming because he held out his plate to me.

“Have it,” he said. “She didn’t have very much. It’s better if we just eat what we can and move on quickly.”

“Leave so soon? I think this place is growing on me. I wouldn’t mind staying here a few more days,” I said, gladly eating the bread he left half-eaten.

Anders’s expression fell back into the same one I’d teased him about, but this time it seemed more solemn than before.

“That’s what worries me,” he said quietly.

“Does the thought of winding up a farmer worry you?” I asked.

“No. The thought of not wanting to leave worries me.”

He stood up and walked away, back toward the house. I watched him go and waited until I had finished eating to follow after him, just in time for him to hand me my bow and knapsack the moment I reached the door.

“Why are you in such a hurry to leave?” I asked, feeling a bit indignant, though I took my things anyway.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” he said, his tone hushed.

“You’re imagining things -- everything’s fine!” I motioned behind me, toward the little houses not at all very far away from us. His only response was to shake his head and push past me gently, which prompted me to give out a low sigh.

“Shall we at least thank Artemis before we leave?” I said loudly after him. He continued to walk, and I gave a dramatic heave of breath to indicate my exasperation loud enough for him to hear. “I’ll do it myself then, shall I?”

He continued to ignore me and I had half a mind to put an arrow right through his staff in response. But for now, I stepped back into the house and went to the door to what I could only assume was Artemis’ bedroom.

“Artemis?” I said as I stopped right outside of it. “We’re leaving, just in case your father comes back with an army or something. So, thanks for not killing us and we’ll be off now.” I paused, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. That’s odd. I could have sworn I heard her moving about in there. Naturally, I couldn’t just let it go -- the suspicious old man in me would not allow that at all. I placed my hand on the doorknob and gently turned it, slow enough so as to not make too much noise. As the door inched open bit by bit, I could hear the faint sound of a woman crying.

“Artemis?” I whispered, pushing the door open further. She was sitting on her bed, her back toward me and somewhat hunched over. My brow knitted together as I watched her, fully and completely aware of all the red flags flying up in my face and practically spelling out the word ‘trap’ in brightly coloured letters. But I’m a good person with great hair, and good people with great don’t just walk away when someone may potentially be in danger.

Unless of course it meant death. Then even the best of people with the greatest of hair were permitted to turn tail and run screaming.

“Artemis,” I said again, softly this time. Reaching behind my back, I grasped the hilt of my dagger, ready to whip it around and start stabbing and slashing if this went as wrong as it undoubtedly would. I considered calling for Anders, but he seemed determined to get as far away from this place as possible and I would truly prefer him away from the danger.

“It’s no use,” she murmured, her voice deep and resonating. “It’s no use, Champion.”

Yeah, that was definitely the tell-tale signs of demonic possession. Deep voice, calling me by my title. I was just waiting for the ‘mwa ha ha’ to start up. For now, though, playing along seemed like the best option.

“What have you done to Artemis?” I asked, already sure of the answer.

“I’ve done nothing to Artemis,” she spat back, straightening in her spot but yet refusing to face me. I was already getting tired of this banter, and I squeezed down on the dagger’s handle tighter. “I _am_ Artemis.”

“Oh, yes, you definitely sound like Artemis. The deep voice really sells the whole package,” I sneered. “Look, we both know what you are and what you’re going to do, so why don’t we--”

All of a sudden, Artemis spun around to face me, and my thoughts came to an abrupt end. Her eyes were red from her own tears and she was clutching something to her chest tightly; red and glowy.

“Maker -- Artemis, is that red lyrium?” I asked. I was less concerned for my own well-being than I suddenly was for hers. How on earth did she come by red lyrium out here in the middle of nowhere?

“It’s my father’s. He told me to protect it, said it would make me strong,” she said, though her voice sounded distant and cold, even with its deep resonation. “You came...you came here to steal it, didn’t you?”

“I can honestly say I didn’t,” I said, truthfully. “But, Artemis, that thing is dangerous.” Trying to reason with her didn’t seem like the best idea I’d ever had, but what choice did I have? I’d seen what it does to people. If I turned away now, I was dooming an innocent woman to a fate worse than death.

“You lie! I know you lie! You want it for yourself!” she shrieked, bolting up from the bed. I took a step back and held out my free hand out to her, while the other kept a tight grip on the dagger behind my back.

“I’d only want it so that I can destroy it and save you from--”

I never got to finish my sentence; she let out a terrible scream, as if I was murdering her right then and there, and lunged forward. Luckily for me, I was quick enough to take a large step back, but she was fast enough to wheel around and fling herself at me again.

“You lie! You _lie_! Just like the others -- just like that Qunari monster!” She continued to scream, her words laced with obscenities I could only barely make out. Without a weapon, she wasn’t as dangerous as she seemed to believe she was, so it wasn’t too hard to dodge her lunges and attempts to claw my eyes out.

“What others?!” I asked.

It was her turn to be interrupted -- a bolt of light shot across the room and hit her square in the back, causing her to convulse wildly and drop like a sack of potatoes. I let go of my dagger and caught her before she hit the ground, my eyes snapping to the door.

“Anders,” I breathed, relief washing over me. “Right in the nick of time. As usual.”

“I told you something wasn’t right,” he said, though he didn’t seem pleased at his small triumph over me. “Tie her down and come with me.”

 

Once Artemis had been tied up, I had managed to pluck the source of her madness from her neck -- a small red stone tied to the end of a leather string. Innocent looking to an outsider, but knowing what it was made my blood boil and the frown on my face deepen. I held it up for Anders to see, and he gave a solemn nod in reply. Neither of us had caught it the entire time we’d been in her company. A failure on our part, one we both shared.

“Here,” Anders said, leading me out of Artemis’ home and across the field to another cottage. “I did some looking around myself after you went to find her. I thought it was odd that in such a small community, no one would have seen or heard us by now.”

“Or been awake to actually do farm work,” I pointed out. He nodded in agreement, but said nothing more. He stopped just short of the front door and glanced at me, and the look on his face told me all I needed to know.

“This...this is going to deeply trouble me, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yes, it is.”

And with that he reached forward and swung the door open, and an unpleasantly familiar odor violated my senses instantly. I reached up to cover my nose before I took in the sight before me. A collection of bodies were piled on each other, each in different stages of decomposition. The more rotted ones wore clothing that gave me the impression they were the noticeably absent farmers, but there were others too -- some in soldiers’ garb, even a Templar was among them. But the one that caught my eye really made my stomach churn: the Qunari from the night before.

“Maker’s breath,” I muttered.

“I expect we aren’t the first passers-by,” Anders said. “We’ll have to deal with her.”

“What, you mean kill her?” I said incredulously. “We have the red lyrium. If we destroy it--”

“You saw Bartrand,” he said. “It may be too late.”

“But that doesn’t mean it _is_  too late,” I argued. He sighed and reached forward to close the door.

“We have a more pressing matter at hand,” he said sternly. “If red lyrium somehow made its way south, into Ferelden, we need to know how, and where it came from.”

“So, what, we just kill Artemis and move along to play investigator?” I said bitterly. “I’m not killing an innocent woman. This was her father’s doing--”

“She killed everyone who lived here,” Anders said sternly.

“Bit rich coming from the mage who blew up the Chantry and started a war!”

Ah. Yes. That did it. A look of mixed anger and hurt flashed across his face before his expression settled into a grimace. Part of me felt mildly ashamed for using his actions against him, but the greater part of me didn’t. While I agreed with him that the Circles needed to be abolished, that mages deserved their freedom just as much as any man, there was no getting around the vicious truth of his actions. And he knew that, otherwise the regret wouldn't have settled so quickly on his face like that.

He took a step back and turned away from me, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. A long silence descended upon us, hanging in the air between us like a heavy fog, until finally he let out a deep sigh and looked up toward the sky above us.

“Fine, we’ll...we’ll give her a chance,” he said, defeated. “But Hawke, we can’t just ignore this ever happened.”

“Of course not,” I said. “We’ll destroy this first and then go back and wait for her to wake up. And if it turns out you’re right and she’s mad beyond all help, then...we’ll deal with it.”


	3. The Runaway

We waited for nearly an hour before Artemis began to regain consciousness. In that time, we moved her from her bedroom and into a chair where I ensured the knots were tied tightly enough to keep her very firmly in place. Anders settled himself behind her, laying his staff across his lap and reading over one of the books from a nearby shelf while he waited, while I sat in front of her, twisting my dagger around and around in my hand.

And wouldn’t you know it, I must have looked more menacing than usual, because when she did open her eyes and took in the sight before her she practically shrank in her seat.

“Oh, hello Artemis,” I said cheerfully. “Feeling better? Less murdery, I hope?”

“What are you--” she started, her voice hoarse.

“Don’t be coy about this, Artemis. You tried to kill me,” I replied, standing up and sliding the dagger back into its holster. “By clawing my eyes out, I’m pretty sure, which was very vicious -- oh, don’t worry about that, it’s just the side-effects of being electrocuted by a mage.”

She stopped squirming and froze to stare at me. If I didn’t know any better, she looked more bewildered than anything else. I had to wonder if there was a possibility that she actually didn’t remember what happened. Yet, surely she noticed that her neighbor's’ house was filled with corpses.

“I don’t...I don’t know what you’re talking ab--”

Anders stood up from his seat quickly and walked around to crouch before her so that they were face to face. I straightened where I stood, keeping a close watch on him just in case that familiar blue glow began to cloak him. Thankfully, it seemed that this was Anders and not Justice. For now.

“We found the red lyrium you had. How did you get it?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re--” she started, but I cut her off.

“You know, that’s getting really tiring to hear,” I drawled, exasperated.

“The red jewel you were wearing,” Anders explained. She blinked and that appeared to lessen the confusion, but that wasn’t saying much. Artemis nodded slowly, then glanced back to me before returning her attention to him.

“That was my mother’s necklace. My father gave it to me for safe-keeping before he left.”

“Wait -- your mother owned that necklace?” I asked, meeting Anders’s gaze when he turned back to me.

“How is that possible?” I continued, but Anders had no more answers for me than he had for himself. He turned back to her and eyed her, as if trying to determine whether or not she was telling the truth.

“When did your father leave?” he asked and she stopped herself from answering. He waited only a moment before he let out a heavy sigh and produced a ball of electricity in his hand. “Please don’t make this difficult.”

“Four months ago,” she said through gritted teeth. “He gave me the necklace and told me I was to look after the farm in his stead.”

“Did he say when he’d come back?” I said. “And could you tell us why you lied and said he was still here?”

The questions apparently stumped her but she could tell neither Anders nor I had any patience left between the two of us. She struggled to gather her thoughts and answer us quickly.

“I don’t know why I lied to you,” she said. “I just know that I had to. I couldn’t stop myself. I just...I had to.”

Anders stood upright and folded his arms across his chest, watching her closely for a moment before he stepped away from her and toward me. I closed the gap between us and we both turned away from her.

“So, she isn’t mad,” I said in a hushed tone. “But she doesn’t seem to be...all there.”

“That’s very nearly the definition of being mad, Hawke,” Anders said, quirking an eyebrow at me.

“Yes, but she’s not raving like Bartrand was, and she hasn’t turned into stone yet either,” I said, though that didn’t seem very helpful. He gave me a flat expression and shook his head before turning back to her.

“Haven’t you wondered why you’re completely alone?” He said. I turned around too, to watch how her face continued to go through the same cycle of confused and distressed. At his question, it seemed to settle on confused.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Oh come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t notice the extreme lack of absolutely anyone else here,” I said, skepticism lacing my every word.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said loudly, though the volume did little to hide the genuine confusion in her voice.

“Artemis, everyone is dead,” Anders said, words devoid of emotion. “Do you understand now?”

Disbelief washed over her face when his words reached her. She began to shake her head, stiffly at first but the action became more determined, like she thought it might do something to fight back the truth in his words.

“You’re...lying to me. You can’t be serious,” she said defiantly. Anders only replied with a slow, solemn shake of his own head. Instantly, her eyes began to well up with water, threatening to spill over any second. To say I was beginning to have my doubts that she was at all aware of anything that had happened since her father gave her that red lyrium was an understatement. Either she was a very convincing actress, or I was just getting soft.

“It can’t be,” she whined. “It can’t be true -- you can’t be--”

“It is true,” I said, cutting her off. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

It seemed as though she trusted my word, but it only resulted in tears streaming down her cheeks, unhalted by her desire to believe we were lying to her. The display seemed enough to break Anders’s own resolve that she was guilty and he let his shoulder sag slightly. Neither of us lingered long while she wept; Anders stepped outside first, and I followed him. We remained quiet for a long time, both of us trying to make sense of what had happened.

“We can’t ignore this,” I said.

“I know,” Anders gave a heavy sigh. “But can we afford to linger long enough to actually look into this?”

“We don’t really have any other options here.”

“We could just walk away.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. I suppose he realised that was exactly what crossed my mind when my attention snapped to his face rapidly, my mouth practically dropping to the ground while I stared at him in disbelief.

“What choice do we have, Hawke?” he asked. “If we stay and look into this, chances are other people are going to start coming through. You saw how many corpses were in that house -- this place is right on the path to Amaranthine. What if Templars decided to pass by and recognised us?”

“Yes, you’re right -- what if Templars show up and find those bodies and she’s the only one left alive? You don’t think that’d end poorly?” I said, trying hard to keep my voice low so she couldn’t hear me. Anders stepped away from me and rubbed his chin before he placed his hands on his hips.

“Hawke…”

“You’d rather feed her to the wolves?”

“Hawke, listen to me--”

“We might as well kill her ourselves.”

“Maybe we should!"

I could hardly believe it. This man, standing before me, looked like Anders. He smelled like Anders, felt like Anders, sounded like Anders, but I couldn’t believe he was Anders. The man who ran the hospice in Darktown, the man I would do anything for, would never condemn an innocent woman to death.

No, this was the mage who blew up the Chantry.

I didn’t get a chance to say anything when we were both torn from our staredown at the sound of a scream.

“What now?” I hissed, retrieving a dagger from my belt.

“That didn’t sound like Artemis,” Anders said.

“Great. That’s precisely what we need -- more peril,” I grumbled. “Just once I want to go one bloody day without killing someone, or saving someone...or killing someone to save someone.”

We ran toward the source of the scream which, incidentally enough, turned out to bring us right back to Artemis’ house. Holding the blade up just enough so that I was ready to strike, I glanced to Anders, who nodded his own readiness before I reached forward and threw open the door.

“Oh, Andraste’s arse,” I spat, angrily. Where Artemis had once been securely fastened to a chair in the middle of the room, there was nothing more than undone rope and a noticeable lack of missing weaponry. Resheathing my dagger, I brought my hands up to rub firmly into my temples in a desperate bid to ward off the headache threatening to bombard me.

“We shouldn’t have left her alone,” Anders said.

“Yes, thank you, not helping.” My patience had reached its limits, and Anders’s quips were most definitely the least welcomed thing I could think of at this very moment. I dropped my hands to my hips and looked up at the ceiling, while Anders shifted his weight behind me and leaned against his staff. Neither of us were exactly in our elements, so to speak, and this had thrown us into quite the conundrum.

“We have to go after her,” I said, pointedly.

“And there’s nothing I can say that will change your mind?” Anders said, a bit wearily.

“Nope.”


	4. Another Day

A Hawke does not so easily concede to defeat.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself over and over again in my head, as if repeating the mantra would somehow make it that much more true than it already was. I mean, it wasn’t something my family had always said or anything. I just sort of started telling myself that by the time we hit day three and still had no sign of Artemis.

In spite of our grim failure in finding her quickly, I was determined to remain undeterred. Even if it meant tolerating Anders’s growing irritation as we trudged down what was undoubtedly going to be our next dead end.

“We’re too close to the city,” Anders said. To be fair, he was completely correct in this observation -- we could both very clearly see Amaranthine’s stone walls not too far ahead.

“I haven’t seen any sign of Templars so far,” I replied in a hushed tone, glancing over my shoulder back at him. He offered me a grimace and leaned against his staff. For a moment, the look of weariness on his face was clearer now to me than it had been before. I was...well, to be honest, surprised to see such a weight bearing down on him so visibly. Had he truly been masking it all this time?

In my surprise, I only barely took note of how hastily his expression shifted back into a neutral one. I took a step toward him, an action that only prompted him to straighten his stance and fold his arms over his chest.

“I’m fine, love,” he assured me, though I wasn’t wholly convinced. He pressed on, apparently keen to change the subject. “We should head south, to Denerim.”

“We can’t abandon this,” I protested, gentler than I might normally had.

“I didn’t say that. But we aren’t making any progress just blindly wandering in the woods, and the longer we stay out here the more likely it is that we’re found.”

“Going to Denerim sounds like a good way of being found,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “I doubt going to one of the most heavily guarded cities in Ferelden is going to do us any favours.”

“I have friends there,” he said, calmly. “They will help us, I’m sure of it.”

“Alright, I’ll bite. Who are these friends of yours and why are you only just now considering their help?” I thought it a perfectly reasonable question. If we’re being honest here then I’d wager there couldn’t have been too many people on Anders’s list of allies, let alone friends. Then again, it occurred to me I only knew a little of his life before Kirkwall. As far as I knew it, he’d been in the Circle, escaped half a dozen times, and then became a Grey Warden. And the last time I checked, he didn’t exactly hold the Wardens very favourably.

“You’ll see,” he said. The look I gave him must have amused him because he let out a short laugh before turning around and walking back down the path.

“You know what’s really annoying? Cryptic mages,” I said with a huff. “Resorting to tired cliches. Honestly.”

 

Travelling to Denerim was, of course, easier said than done. As the days passed on, so it seemed time was content to continue as well, which meant the effects of what happened in Kirkwall were becoming more and more obvious to us. More than once did we run into a merchant who begrudged the ever-growing number of apostates they ran into. At first, they seemed perturbed only for the lack of coin the escaped mages had.

“It isn’t their fault,” Anders said haughtily to me as we continued down the path. I was busy counting what coins we had left, though I did shoot him a glance as he continued on.

“It’s not as if the Chantry was going to give us some kind of allowance for any reason. What would we be allowed to spend it on, save the occasional trinket they might allow us to have? This only goes to show that the control the Circle has over mages needs to end, permanently.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmured. “Well, the good news is, we still have coin left over after buying bread and potions.”

Anders continued to wear a scowl on his face for a good twenty minutes (I was estimating, and possibly exaggerating this time) even as he and I shared one of the loaves.

“Look, there’s more of them now,” he said, the tone in his voice a markedly irritable one. Sure enough, some feet away, was a wagon with a load of barrels sitting in it. Odd, I thought, to run into more than one merchant on the same road in the same hour. Odder still was the fact it wasn’t moving anywhere, and the closer we got, the more suspicious I became.

“I have a bad feeling we’re about to be deeply disturbed,” I muttered as we neared. Anders and I slowed in our steps, and I shrugged off the bow from my shoulder so that I could hold it at the ready. Our shared concern paid off, and neither of us were surprised when our eyes landed on the two deceased dwarves, bloodied and mangled.

“I’m getting tired of finding dead people,” I said with a frown. A quick around gave me pause to believe that whoever or whatever had attacked had done so recently, and the fact that the merchants now long behind us hadn’t said anything was reason enough. I crouched down in front of the dwarf sprawled out on the ground, my eyes trailing over his injuries as I tried to determine what could have caused it.

“No weapon did this,” Anders said.

“No average weapon did this. It was a mage,” I said. At his silence, I turned my head to look at Anders’s glowering face. “What? You know as well as I do what these markings are.” My hand motioned toward the various markings left behind on the dwarf’s flesh, ones that had also torn through his clothing.

“It could have been a darkspawn emissary or--”

“Anders, you heard the merchant we just spoke to complaining about apostates,” I interrupted him, and that combined by my words earned me a scornful look.

“There’s no evidence to suggest any apostate was responsible for this!”

I wasn’t going to win this argument and, frankly, I wasn’t going to try. My surrender was marked by my standing straight once more and stepping away from the bodies. I had a very hard time believing that darkspawn had any use for anything these merchants might have been carrying, but the fact was Anders was also right in that there was no real proof.

“We should move on,” he suggested, his tone softening.

 

Somewhere between the dead dwarves and the end of Hafter River, it had started raining. And it hadn’t bloody stopped, either. Our cloaks offered only some protection, and on occasion Anders was able to use a magic barrier to give us both a brief reprieve from the wrath of the cold, blasted, stupid, bloody, Maker forsaken sky water.

“Good to know Ferelden hasn’t changed a single bit,” I spat out angrily as my foot found yet another deep, muddy puddle.

“Needs more dog shit,” Anders quipped in return, to which I gave a loud snort of disapproval.

“Oh thank the bloody Maker, we’re finally here!” I yelled. Truthfully, we were still roughly half a mile away from our destination, but there was no mistaking the sight of Denerim’s city gates, even from where we were. They had more or less managed to rebuild most of its walls since the battle with the archdemon, and I was genuinely impressed with the progress.

Whether or not I would remain impressed was entirely dependent on how many Templars they may or may not have had waiting for us. Which, judging by the guards standing at the entrance, might be an actual possibility.

“Think you can shave really fast and pretend to be a trader’s wife?” I asked in a hushed whisper.

“No,” Anders said, giving me a harsh glance. “I don’t look like a woman, Hawke.”

“I was going to claim you were a particularly rugged looking woman, if that helps?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Fine, fine,” I sighed and pressed my lips together for a moment. “But we are going to need a reason for entering.”

“I’m a Grey Warden. I don’t need a reason, or any more papers than the ones I have with the Warden’s seal on them.”

“Yes, but I- wait, what?”

“I’m not a fool, Hawke. I had enough sense to leave Kirkwall prepared to be on the run for quite some time.”

“Well, yeah, but I just assumed you’d...you know…”

“I’d what?”

“Zap anyone who came poking around and live off the forest?”

“I...Hawke...I’m not a bloody moron.”

“Yeah but I didn’t think they’d honour the Grey Warden bit after what happened.”

Anders's face did that downward turn it had become so accustomed to doing in recent time, and I wondered if perhaps he’d even considered the possibility of his Warden status being overlooked in light of starting a civil war. Instinctively, I reached out and took his wrist, pulling him to a halt to stand beside me so that I could meet his eyes with my own.

“No matter what, I will protect you to my dying breath,” I said. My promise, though genuine, seemed only to give him more reason to frown, and his brow furrowed slightly as his eyes searched mine.

“That’s what worries me, love,” he said. His words came out laboured and weary, as if he’d been carrying the thought for a long while. “I don’t know what’d become of me if you were to...if protecting me meant…”

“Bah! It won’t come to that,” I said, bolstering as much confidence in my words as I possibly could. “I’m the Champion, remember? There’s a book about me and everything. I swear I’ll only throw myself on a blade if they reject offers of my autograph.”

My sense of humour always seem to bring at least a half smile to Anders’s face and thankfully, this was one of those times that it worked.

 

“You’re a what?” The guardsman hardly seemed to believe what we had just told him.

“He is a Grey Warden and I, am his travelling companion,” I repeated. The guardsman eyed us, clearly suspicious, and then turned his gaze back to the paper he held in his hands. While I did my very best to keep my face as expressionless as an Orlesian mask, I was already preparing our escape if it happened that this particular guard was especially cautious.

“Alright, go on in,” he said, finally, handing Anders back the letter. “But don’t go causin’ no trouble, else you’ll get the stocks, Warden or not.”

“Thank you kind sir!” I said. Relief washed over me as Anders and I walked through the gates and my gaze settled down neatly on what lay before us. Without realising it, I had come to a complete stop and my eyes went wide as I stared at the various people and street vendors spread all over the place. Amaranthine was one thing, but Denerim was impressive in its own right as well. I’d heard things about it, of course, seeing as how it was the home of Andraste Herself. Not that I’m a particularly religious man or anything. Still, it helped put things into perspective.

“Hawke?” Anders’s voice cut through my thoughts and jarred me back to the present.

“Can we live here?” I asked dreamily. Anders shook his head and stepped closer to me so that we were shoulder-to-shoulder. I glanced at him out of curiosity; Anders usually reserved such closeness in private.

“Ooh, baby, hold me close,” I said, slipping my arm across his shoulders. He gave a light scoff and another shake of his head before he motioned to the business ahead of us.

“If you thought Hightown was rife with crime, Denerim’s much, much worse,” he explained. “Keep hold of your coin purse.”

“With you around, I always want to hold my--”

“Hawke.”

“Alright, alright.”

The bustle of the city didn’t take long to stop being so new and exciting to me. As fascinating as it was, I soon found myself glancing over my shoulder far more often than I typically enjoyed doing, and Anders wasn’t joking about the would-be pickpockets. No less than three times did someone ‘accidentally’ run into me and by the time we reached Anders’s destination, I was feeling thoroughly violated.

“‘The Gnawed Noble Tavern’?” My eyes locked onto the sign hanging above the wooden door, and Anders paused to look at me with a quixotic expression.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No, no, just...interesting choice,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders.

“It’s not so unusual. I used to frequent a placed called The Spoiled Princess.”

The reason for this particular name for a tavern became completely clear to me once we entered. Almost immediately, I caught sight of a man in well-made clothing sitting in the corner, hunched forward and nursing a large tankard and muttering quietly to himself. Just several tables away sat a woman in all her finery, slumped back against her seat and staring blankly at nothing.

“Maker, who died?” I whispered, following Anders as he made his way to the countertop. Behind it stood a friendly looking man -- a stark contrast to the otherwise gloomy faces around here -- who instantly gave a great smile to us.

“Hello, boys,” he said, cheerfully. “What can I get you?”

“Have any rooms available?” Anders asked. The man nodded and withdrew a large book from underneath his counter, the sound of its leather back slapping against the wood causing a few of the other occupants to jump. He licked one of his fingers and flipped through a couple of pages before he stopped and put a quill to the page, turning his attention to Anders once more.

“And who might be staying with us tonight?”

“Thekla,” Anders said, the lie falling out of his mouth effortlessly. My eyes remained fixed on Anders as the man scribbled away in his little book, and for once, I chose to wear silence like a second skin.

 

“Who’s Thekla?” I asked once we were alone in the room. Nothing about Anders’s movements betrayed his own thoughtfulness, and as he shrugged off his cloak and shook the water from it, he only allowed me a brief glance.

“Just a name,” he said. I scrutinised everything about him right then -- the way he tossed his cloak over a nearby chair, the way he settled his staff neatly against the wall, and the way he practically dragged himself to the bed and dropped down onto the edge like a sack of potatoes.

“Well, whoever that is, I hope they don’t mind you borrowing their name for our nefarious reasons,” I said, pulling myself away from my observations so that I could also begin to relieve myself from my wet equipment and cloak.

“They don’t,” he said.

“What do we do from here?” I lay my bow down on a table sitting against the wall. I moved so that I could sit next to him, sinking into the cushions and very nearly forgetting my question entirely as my body savoured the feeling. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to sit on something comfortable, Maker’s breath.

“I’ve sent word to a...friend of mine,” Anders said, leaning back and propping himself up on his elbows. It seemed he was also enjoying the comfort of the bed, which was all I needed to let myself flop back flat against it and close my eyes. I wasn’t very tired -- in fact, I wasn’t tired at all -- but I happen to be the perfect candidate for a sloth demon and therefore prone to enjoying those brief windows of opportunity in which I could be needlessly lazy.

“You know, I wasn’t joking when I said being cryptic was a cliche,” I mumbled. “One of these days you’ll stop being all secretive and actually give me real answers. Like names. Start with names.”

I heard him let out a heavy sigh, and felt the way he shifted on the bed to turn toward me. For a moment, I was content to simply listen to him breathe with my eyes kept shut. Then, he leaned forward and I felt the slight brush of his beard against my own as his lips pressed gently against mine.

“That isn’t an answer,” I whispered and opened my eyes to look at his face as he pulled back only a little.

“I know,” he said.

“But I’ll take it anyway.” I reached up and pulled him back to me, returning the kiss a little more aggressively than he’d started. As our hands began to paw away each other’s clothes, I couldn’t help but lament the days when we could do this anytime we wanted; when we weren’t on the run or cowering down under some feeble attempt at shelter in the middle of the woods. Later, as my hand trailed over his bare back and traced the curve of his shoulder blade, I would remember all the reasons I had fallen in love with this particularly complicated man. And I knew every moment was worth it.


	5. Old Friends, New Problems

There was never any doubt that I would wake up alone in the morning. I knew Anders better than to assume he’d simply trust me to go along with him, because what Anders tended to do best was wander off on his own and get into massive amounts of trouble.

I’d come to terms with this habit of his a long time ago, though recent events did make me stop and wonder where he might have gone off to. And the more I thought about the variety of ways that something could have gone horribly wrong, the more concerned I became. I waited in the room for several minutes before my restlessness got the better of me; scooping up my bow and quiver, I shoved my boots on and made my way outside.

With the deluge of rain finally over, there were a number of puddles scattered all over the road, but it was the sun that put the city into a whole new light for me. Quite a few more people were out and about today, unrestrained by the weather, and the amount of merchants looked as if it’d nearly doubled since yesterday. If I hadn’t a clear goal in mind, I might have stopped for a few moments just to enjoy the sights. But, no, I needed to find Anders...wherever he could have gone in this large city.

Truth be told, I genuinely had no idea where I was going. I remembered what Anders had said about cutpurses, which proved to be handy seeing as how it looked like children would be my biggest problem. Half a dozen of them shoved by me, and none of them made any attempt to hide their efforts in grabbing my money.

“H-hey! Stop that!” I said, slapping my hand down ruthlessly on a young girl’s when it found its way into my pocket. She squealed and high-tailed it away from me at full speed, which made me wonder just how terrifying I must have been to illicit such a response. Then, as I turned back, I realised why she had taken off as fast as she did. A gaggle of guards -- forgive me, but when am I ever going to get to use that phrase again? -- strolled by, all of their stern faces giving me cause to think that whatever they were doing, they were extremely focused.

A man walking just a few steps ahead of the rest caught my attention, however; he was probably the most imposing man I’d seen in a long time, and while I like to think I’m not exactly a waif, this man made me feel like a cowering scullery maid by comparison. I would have been shocked to hear he was any shorter than six-foot-five, with dark dreadlocks framing his face and a goatee surrounding his thin lips. His skin was tan, an obvious indicator of being outside for long periods of time, and he had bright green eyes that stood out against his otherwise dark features.

“Our orders are to capture him _alive_. We are not being sent to execute anyone,” said the man I assumed must be the captain. If he wasn’t captain, then they were wasting their time.

“But, sir--” a young man began to protest.

“You have your orders, Godfrey, I suggest you see to them.” Each guard went their separate ways, and while I stood there still in a bit of a daze from the sight of the man, it took me a full minute to realise that they might be doing exactly what I was doing. Anders was a wanted man, and if it happened to get out that someone of his description had come into the city...my stomach turned over at the thought.

 

After two hours, I had come to the decision that when I did finally find him again, I was going to put a bell on him. Maybe tie a rope around his waist, too, while I was at it.

Clearly, my search was proving futile. The wonderment of Denerim faded rapidly after I dropped my guard for literally four seconds and lost the coin purse I’d been told time and again not to lose. Now I was left without money, with an empty stomach, and worse yet without any idea on where Anders might have gone. I even went into the Alienage to look for him, wherein I was very promptly cornered by three less-than-pleasant elves and instructed to leave.

Cursing under my breath as I walked back to the tavern, I was beginning to think he did this sort of thing on purpose, and at this point, the “where’s he gone” game had gotten very, _very_ old. I was just thinking about how much bread we had leftover from the day before’s travels when I opened the door and immediately felt the rush of anger hit me square in the face.

The entire room was in disarray; my knapsack sat empty and torn apart on the floor. But the most alarming sight of all was Anders’ staff lying near the bed, snapped in half like it was only a discarded twig and not at all a dangerous tool to channel magic.

Everything inside of me was screaming, while my outward appearance was as controlled as I could make it. I stepped carefully over the broken things and began my slightly frantic search for...for something, _anything_ , that would tell me what happened. Of course my mind replayed the exchanges between the guards, and I felt myself slowly sinking into a mixture of panic and fury. If Anders had been found and captured, and I wasn’t here to stop it, then what would become of him?

Not many people ever took kindly to Chantry-exploding apostates, after all.

I retrieved my daggers, thankful they’d been left behind, and rushed for the counter to confront the barkeep. Just before he could say anything, I cut him off.

“Where did they take him?” I demanded. He blinked slowly and when I received no immediate answer, I withdrew my dagger and leaned over the counter, pointing it in his direction.

“I don’t have many talents, but I’ve been told my ability to kill things is exceptional,” I threatened, probably unnecessarily. He took a step back and shrank slightly, his smile faltering for the first time since we’d arrived, and he shook his head desperately.

“No one said! They just came and left, I swear, sir!” He pleaded with me, though unfortunately, it wasn’t the answer I was after. I leaned in further, but nothing would come of the action because before I could say anything, I felt something pressing against my spine.

“You will drop your blade,” the voice ordered. I’ll admit to weighing the pros and cons of alternative actions before I relented and did as I was told, silently fuming as my hands went skyward to show my surrender.

“In the name of the King, I am placing you under arrest. You will come peacefully,” the man behind me continued before he grabbed both of my wrists and tied them together with a rope. I gave a low chuckle then began an attempt at explaining myself, in spite of the overwhelming number of things already pinned against me.

“Look, this is all a very big misunderstanding. If you could just let me ex--”

“You will be _silent_ , Champion,” he interrupted me and I froze. Alright, I needed to have a serious discussion with Varric over realistic illustrations of me in his book. We hadn’t stepped outside for longer than a moment when the captain decided to slip a bag over my head.

“Ooh, this is very secretive,” my words came out muffled.

“Silence,” he growled.

“I hope you’re taking me somewhere nice,” I said, defiantly.

Wherever I was going, he wasn’t being very kind about leading me at all. With one of his hands grasped firmly under my arm, I was jerked, pulled, and yanked in a variety of directions -- and not even in the way I enjoyed, either. Eventually, after what seemed like a couple of miles, I heard the distinct sound of a door being kicked open before I was practically shoved inside. A couple of more jerks (ha!) and I was flung into what felt like a...cushioned seat. Huh. Weird.

“That won’t be necessary, Ser Conrad,” came a woman’s voice.

“With all due respect--” Ser Conrad started, but was promptly cut off.

“It’s alright,” she said, her voice at once soft and commanding. After only a brief pause, the bag was pulled off my head and my eyes were almost immediately assaulted by a bright burst of light coming from what I assumed was a window. At least, I hoped it was a window and not a fireball.

A shape standing in front of the brightness started to make its way into my vision, until I could start to make out small details. It belonged to a woman, tall and thin with narrow shoulders. Black hair was swept up into an intricate braid that wrapped into a loose bun, and it only took a second’s glance at the back of her clothing to realise she must have been nobility of some sort. Ser Conrad took his place not too far away from me, leaning against one of the walls and locking his gaze on me while I studied the back of the stranger who commanded him. For several moments, we stood in silence, waiting until she spoke again.

“Garrett Hawke...from Lothering, was it? You fled to Kirkwall nearly ten years ago during the Blight. You made quite the name for yourself,” she said.

“You must have read Varric’s book,” I replied, not wholly surprised by what she seemed to know of me.

“Among other things,” she said. She kept her back to me while she spoke, and I took the opportunity to examine the desk sitting between us. There were papers scattered all over it, and sitting right in the middle was a large leatherbound book I recognised instantly.

“If you wanted an autograph, you could have just asked. No need to send your pet after me,” I said. My comment seemed to ruffle Ser Conrad’s proverbial feathers and he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. She need only raise her hand slightly to signal his yield.

“I brought you here so that we might speak privately. I apologise for the methods I employed, but I felt it necessary to be as...discreet as possible,” she said.

“Well, then, I’m at a disadvantage. You know so much about me and yet I don’t even know who you are. You’ll forgive me if I’m under the impression you’re about to skin me alive,” I said, leaning back into the chair in a vain attempt to appear comfortable. My hands were still tied and, at this point, feeling a little numb.

“Of course, my apologies,” she said. She stepped away from the window and walked toward me, stopping beside the desk. I took a moment’s pause as I allowed her features to piece themselves together in my mind; brown skin, large brown eyes, thin black hair pulled back and a thin scar sitting just above her left eyebrow. Tall, beautiful, regal all at once and yet so commandeering in her own right. For once, I was very much dumbstruck.

“Well…” I started, slowly. “Do you prefer Warden-Commander or Your Majesty?”

“Isolde will do,” she replied, calmly. She leaned back against the desk, sitting on its edge and eyeing me intently.

“I take it this isn’t a social call,” I said, glancing back toward Ser Conrad.

“You would be correct,” she said, reaching across the desk and picking up a rolled-up parchment. “When I received reports that you had been spotted near the city, I sent Ser Conrad to investigate these claims. Once they were confirmed, I ordered him to bring you here by any means necessary and in secret.”

“Yes, I’m sure someone of your status can’t be seen with someone as lowly and--”

“I am more interested in your companion,” she interrupted. I closed my mouth and leaned my head back, offering her my very best stern stare.

“I mean him no harm,” Isolde said, though this obviously did nothing to convince me.

“That’s funny. Usually when people say that, they mean the opposite,” I sneered.

“You have every reason not to trust me--”

“You’re damn right I don’t,” I spat. “Beside all of the other obvious things, you’re a Grey Warden. Anders left you lot for a reason, I’m not about to hand him over to you now.”

Isolde halted in whatever she was going to say in reply, watching me closely before sighing and slouching her shoulders forward. She rested her forearms against the top of her knees, twirling the parchment in her hands.

“If I wanted to bring him back to the Wardens at any point, I would have made it happen,” she started quietly.

“What do you mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

“He didn’t tell you about how he became a Warden, did he?” She paused only for a moment before she continued, taking my silence as confirmation. “I conscripted him from Templar custody, with my husband’s support. We travelled together for a time...I was there when he met Justice.”

“Justice is a spirit, and last I heard, you’re no mage,” I said.

“It’s a long story. The short of it is that without me, none of this would ever have happened.”

The weight of her words was obvious in the way she spoke, her eyes reflecting a sombreness that I had not seen in anyone but Anders in a long time. My mouth curved downward while I listened, all while I wondered when we’d get to the part where she had a reason for bringing me here.

“I don’t want to harm Anders or force him to do something he doesn’t want to do,” she continued after a time. “But what he did...what happened in Kirkwall...there have been repercussions, ones I don’t think he even considered.”

“So, what, you want to make him Tranquil?” I asked.

“Not at all. I want to separate him from Justice.”


	6. Promises to Keep

“Oh, Maker, if only I’d thought of that before! Like, in the last four years or so that I’d been with Anders, that never once, ever crossed my mind,” I said, leering at her to emphasise all the sarcasm dripping from every word. “Truly, the wisdom of the Hero of Ferelden is astounding indeed.”

I could hear Ser Conrad shuffle in his spot, clearly perturbed that I had insulted his queen. In spite of my best efforts, however, she appeared indifferent to my sneering, and simply continued speaking as if I hadn’t said anything at all.

“I’m no stranger to separating demons from their hosts,” she replied coolly.

“Except Justice isn’t a demon, is he?” I countered.

“I know what Justice is.”

“Oh, do you now? Because it sounds like to me, you don’t.”

“We can argue about this all day, but it doesn’t change the fact that I once counted both Justice and Anders among my friends. I won’t watch them destroy each other,” she said, and for the first time since I had met her, her words came out short and to the point.

In truth, I felt a little bad for her. Obviously this was a weight she’d been carrying around for a long while; from the way she was slouching, she looked closer to someone trying to hold the world on her shoulders than she did your average queen. In a perfect world, I would have expressed my pity for her and lamented our shared struggle when it came to Anders and Justice.

“Bullshit,” I snapped. No pity from me, as it happens. “You mean to tell me in the years you spent apparently knowing where Anders was the entire time, and knowing about his deal with Justice, that only _now_ you choose to help?”

Ser Conrad apparently had enough of my mouth and moved forward, but I paid him little mind as I continued to speak.

“Do you know what I think, _Your Highness_? I think this is your saviour complex getting the better of you. I think you feel like it’s up to you to save him, that only you can break his terrible curse and set things right. I bet you even think it’s your fault that he blew up the Chantry in the first place, don’t you?”

Isolde remained silent, brown eyes locked to mine, while Ser Conrad let out a menacing rumble from his throat.

“You will show respect, Champion,” he spat. I ignored him, choosing instead to continue my unabashed judgement of the woman sitting before me.

“I love Anders,” I pressed on, quieting my voice some. “What makes you think I would let you risk his life because you want to play hero one last time?”

A long, bitter silence sat between us for several long beats. I continued my self-assigned staring contest while I waited for her response, or her reaction. Anything from her at all would have been great, really. At this point, I was beginning to wonder if she did a lot of blank staring, because Maker she was good at it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she spoke once more.

“Release him,” she said. The order caused Ser Conrad’s head to jerk his attention to her in shock, as if she’d asked him to do a little dance or something. She returned his gaze and nodded firmly as she spoke again. “Do as I ask, Ser Conrad.”

Reluctantly, Ser Conrad allowed me to stand while he cut the ropes around my wrists. I brought my hands around to my front and began to gingerly massage and stretch them. As relieved as I was, however, it didn’t deter my suspicions. She pushed off from the desk and walked back around it, setting the parchment down neatly and busying herself by shuffling some of the letters together.

“Is that it? You’re just...letting me go?” I asked.

“I trust you’ll do the right thing by Anders,” she said. “You said it yourself. You love him, and if you and I are anything alike, I know you will do whatever it takes to save him.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said. My eyes landed on the rolled up parchment she had been holding only moments before, and just as my curiosity got the better of me, she started talking again.

“This is a letter from Divine Justinia. She’s called for a gathering to discuss what happened at Kirkwall.”

“I’m sure that’ll go well, as long as she’s serving tea and cakes,” I commented.

“Her Left has been inquiring about Anders’s whereabouts,” Isolde continued. “And her Right has been searching for you.”

“Let me guess -- the one looking for me is a Seeker, and the other one is an assassin,” I said with a slight droll.

Isolde paused and looked at me, a look of mild concern crossing her face.

“That’s right. I assume your friend told you that?”

“I get my information from all over. So why are you telling me this?” I shifted the topic back on track, keen to learn exactly what she was getting at. This game of going round and round was getting old, and I was very aware that every moment wasted here was another moment I still had no clues on where Anders had been taken.

“I received word that the Divine may be considering an Exalted March on Kirkwall,” Isolde said. Even stonewall Ser Conrad shifted uncomfortably in his place, and while I processed what I had just been told, I felt my face twist into an expression of disbelief.

“Naturally,” I said, feeling a bit defeated. “Why wouldn’t she? I’m only amazed it’s taken this long to start talking about it.”

“They’re calling it the Mage Rebellion. Circles all over are falling; in Ferelden alone we’ve had numerous reports on apostates openly attacking Templars.”

“It must be so terrible for the Templars to have the tables turned on them so quickly.”

“This is not a laughing matter, Hawke.”

“I’m not laughing. The Divine has made these idle threats before, on Orzammar. If I remember correctly, you were at the centre of them both.”

Her lips thinned as she turned her stare to me, the look she gave me harsh in the same way a Revered Mother might give to someone who disappointed her greatly. But I refused to back down. After all, it wasn’t my fault she decided to kidnap me and be the bearer of bad news.

“Where’s Anders?” I said, quite decidedly done with this game we were playing.

“What makes you think I know?” Isolde countered, raising her chin and letting her jaw tense. I squinted my eyes at her slightly, sizing her up for a moment before a smile cracked across my face.

“Ser Conrad there’s got a bit of fraying going on in his hair,” I said, nodding my head to him. “Now that I can see him properly, there’s no mistaking the signs of someone who’s gotten shocked by a mage. And if I know Anders, I know he’s not afraid to shoot lightning at Templars.”

“Former Templar,” Ser Conrad rumbled.

“And my suspicions are confirmed, serah,” I said, leaning forward slightly to offer my best mockery of a bow. He took a few great steps toward me, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his blade. Though I was unarmed myself, I would not relent; I stood straighter and turned to him, waiting to begin our fight.

“Enough, both of you,” Isolde snapped, clearly agitated by our shows of aggression. “There’s no need for bloodshed today, Ser Conrad. And Champion, I should have known better than to try and deceive you. Clearly you’re no fool.”

“I like the part where you say that as if you’re shocked,” I said, my eyes still locked onto Ser Conrad’s face while I watched him reluctantly halt in his place and curl his lips. Isolde turned her attention to me, studying me with anticipation until she spoke again.

“I’ve sent Anders to Vigil’s Keep, as a prisoner of the Grey Wardens,” she said. The rage bubbled up in my chest and I turned to her, ready to lash out both verbally and physically before her words stopped me from doing so. “It was that or surrender him to the Templars to be executed as an abomination. Lest you forgot, Anders is my friend, too, Hawke.”

 

I had left what turned out to be rather modest estate in somewhat of a daze. My fury was overshadowed only by my trying to process everything, which I was proving woefully inept at given my current disposition. All I could think about was Anders, about what Isolde said after she told me where he’d been taken.

“And I’m supposed to trust the Grey Wardens to be merciful?” I had barked at her before I had a moment to consider my words. “The moment they realise who--”

“I sent him away under a different name, and I gave my men specific orders not to harm him,” she said. Her assurances gave me no comfort, and led to my present state. I swung between anger and doubt so randomly that I found it difficult to focus on anything, let alone what my actual plan was as I walked out of the city. Being alone was no concern to me, it was being without Anders that I found disagreeable.

I had only just remembered to grab what was left of our supplies and somehow managed to sway a merchant to trade both of my daggers for a knapsack and a few strips of jerky and some bread. The trade wasn’t really a fair one, but at this rate, I didn’t care. I had a clear goal in mind and right now I was willing to do just about anything.

The trek back down the same path we had taken to get to Denerim was not as uneventful as I was hoping for. Twice did I have to dash into the bushes to avoid being seen by bandits, and once I had to make a rather unattractive leap into a small gorge while a group of terrified apostates clashed with rather enthusiastic Templars. Much as I wanted to help, I knew risking my life now would be foolish. I couldn’t say how long I remained there -- well into dark -- until the fighting stopped, and when I emerged, the carnage I saw was...excessive.

“Poor sods,” I muttered as I carefully stepped over bodies. I was just about to continue down my path when I stopped and, Maker help me, began going through their pockets and satchels for any supplies I could use. By the time I actually went on my way, I had managed to find dried apricots, salted pork, a cheese knife, and one decently made dagger. Taking from the dead had never been my favourite activity, but it at least meant I’d be a little more prepared on my goal to retrieve Anders from a Grey Warden stronghold.

 

It was later in the evening, when only the moon lit the way, that I was met with a small snag in my journey. Some thirty feet ahead of me, I could see the vague outlines of people and a couple of torches. Given the fighting I had heard earlier, I flipped my hood up and over my head and decided to duck low, scooting toward the woods along the pathway as I carefully inched closer, getting near enough to hear the quiet murmuring between them.

“What do we do with her?” said a pot-bellied man. He looked sullen, but he was nothing compared to the thin woman beside him, who spoke up in a shrill voice.

“She attacked us! I say we kill her!”

“We’re not barbarians, mother!” argued a younger looking man, who appeared far too innocent for his own good. “The Maker would want us to grant mercy.”

“Wren’s right, Elaine,” pot-belly said. “She’s no mage, and if she was chasind, there’d be others waiting to strike. We’d only make it worse if we killed her.”

“But what if she wakes up and comes looking for us?!” cried the woman called Elaine. She looked frantic, and she was armed with a small hatchet. A dangerous combination indeed, but her apparent husband stepped toward her quickly.

“Listen to yourself, woman!”

“No, you listen! We have been attacked again and again by these _savages_! I’m going to put an end to it.” She shoved past pot-belly and her son, both of whom didn’t seem nearly as dedicated to protecting their attacker as their words suggested. In a split second decision, I readied my bow and grabbed an arrow, aiming it directly at Elaine just as she raised her hatchet.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I said calmly.

“I knew she was chasind!” Elaine wailed, throwing aside her weapon and stumbling back to her husband. He held up one of his hands out to me while he used his other to shield his wife, but I kept my aim steady only to send a message at this point.

“We...we don’t want no trouble!” he squeaked.

“Mother, father...he’s not chasind. Honestly, he doesn’t even look like--” Wren began to say until I turned my aim on him, earning a loud whimper from Elaine. He stopped and swallowed hard as I watched him carefully.

“Look, I’ve had a long and frankly irritating day. Why don’t you just run along now and go back to your homes?” I suggested.

“But we--” Elaine began.

“Or I could shoot you. That works too.”

I watched them scramble wildly as they ran away from me. Now, I knew all along I had no intention of actually slaughtering a handful of harmless farmers, but I won’t deny myself the amusement of the sight of them practically shitting themselves as they ran off. And honestly, I felt no particular fealty to this unknown attacker, but I suppose it felt like the right thing to do at the time. Just as I was replacing the arrow in its quiver and readjusting the bow on my shoulder, I heard a low groan coming from the ground.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Oh silly me, you didn’t say anything yet. I’ll wait.”

“I-- Champion?” came a familiar, if not hoarse voice. I paused and turned to look at the woman. And at this rate, I wasn’t even going to entertain the idea of being shocked at yet another twist of events.

“Artemis? Why am I suddenly having all these surprise encounters? And what do people have against using my name?” I asked, doing my best impression of someone who wasn’t even a little annoyed. I reached down to help her to her feet, holding only her arms while she steadied herself.

“Care to explain why you attacked those farmers? You’re not still crazy, are you?” I continued as she brushed black curls out of her face. She paused and looked at me as though I’d asked her what colour her undergarments were.

“Of course not! Their farm was attacked and they came running at me because I was the only one here with a sword,” she scoffed.

“You’ll forgive me if I reserve some scepticism,” I said.

“I’d worry if you didn’t,” she said with a sigh. I scratched the side of my face while I thought about what to do next. It seemed like all of these things were happening out of order; lose Artemis, look for Artemis, lose Anders, find Artemis, look for Anders. This was one giant mess, and all I wanted was a way out of it.

“Where’s Anders?” Artemis asked as if reading my mind. I gave an embittered bark of laughter, which made her take a step back away from me. Not that I could blame her. I’m sure I looked the picture of madness after that.

“Well, it’s a hilarious story. You see, we went looking for _you_ , and then he said he had friends that would help us in Denerim. Then we were kidnapped by the bloody Queen of Ferelden -- oh, yes, the very same -- and he got sacked off to Vigil’s Keep. So, really, things are going wonderfully so far since we met you.”

“You think this is my fault?” she said, gawking slightly. I opened my mouth and then closed it again as it hit me what I was insinuating. Exhaling deeply, I shook my head and brought a hand up to massage my forehead.

“No...no, I’m not blaming you,” I admitted. “You didn’t have a part in what happened to Anders. We chose to look for you on our own. But I do have to ask, where _did_ you go? I secured your bindings myself.”

At my question, I could see her hesitation worn plainly on her face. She frowned slightly while she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling out leaves and brushing out bits of dirt. After a moment’s silence, she finally seemed ready to answer me.

“I got loose. And then I found...well, I saw what you were talking about,” she said.

“You ‘got loose’?” I said, not bothering to hide the incredulous tone in my voice.

“Yes, and I’d rather leave it at that if you don’t mind,” she snapped. “You’re going to need help getting Anders back, won’t you? Do you have a plan?”

“Well I thought I’d just knock on the door and politely ask them to return my boyfriend, actually,” I said.

“Vigil’s Keep is a stronghold, with plenty of warriors at their disposal,” she said, choosing to ignore my snark. “But we might be able to sneak in, find Anders, and get out.”

“I like my idea better. Seems more likely to work,” I drawled. She pursed her lips and offered me a scowl, folding her arms over her chest and letting out a great huff.

“Do you have a better idea, then?” she asked.

“Yes. It involves you going on your way and me doing this on my own,” I said.

“You came looking for me!” Artemis said, raising her voice.

“Only to make sure you didn’t die or go mad and massacred another farm!” I met her volume as I spoke. Taken aback by my words, Artemis’s mouth gaped open briefly.

“I want to help,” she said softly. “I want to...atone for what I did. Please, I beg of you, let me help you, ser.”

I tried not to look at her. I really did. But my eyes met hers, and the pleading in her face seemed so genuine. And who was I but a giant softy who would likely end up getting betrayed by this innocent, wide-eyed woman who tried to murder me in a fit of madness?

“ _Fine_ , you can come along. Just don’t try to kill me or I’ll be forced to kill you back,” I said, defeated.


	7. Lions and Lambs

The rain started up again in the middle of the night, dragging me out of a relatively peaceful sleep. Artemis had taken on the first watch earlier, and was already awake and stuffing things into her pack as I tried to spare as much of my previously warm, dry blanket by rolling it up.

“Bloody rain,” I muttered.

“At least it isn’t snowing yet,” Artemis said quite unhelpfully. I cast her a glare and let out a low whine.

“That’s almost as bad as saying ‘it can’t get any worse,’ you know. Now that you’ve said that, we’ll be frozen by the end of the day.” She didn’t seem to appreciate my humour, which was yet one more mark against the pros and cons list I’d been making in my head.

But she wasn’t so bad, I had to admit. We made our way through what turned out to be a light drizzle for the next few hours, and with her at my side it made it far easier to avoid detection from suspicious merchants. She also managed to swindle a dwarf out of giving us more bread and cheese than we actually had money for.

“Huh,” I said, eyeing her while she gently placed the loaves of bread into her pack. She glanced up at me questioningly, one of her eyebrows raising lightly.

“What?” she asked, her voice filled with a touch of dread, no doubt anticipating an unkind answer.

“Where does a farm girl learn how to bargain like that?” I asked. She looked away from me as she closed up her pack and swung it back over her shoulder, adjusting the sword on her side and brushing strands of hair out of her face. I thought she might try to dodge the question -- I expected it, anyway -- but she surprised me with an answer.

“Well, one tends to learn things when they travel,” she said, choosing her words deliberately.

“One doesn’t learn them in such a short amount of time, though,” I pointed out. “As I recall it, you had bits of templar armour on when we first met. How does a farm girl happen upon some spare, well-fitting armour such as that?”

She considered my questions for a minute or so, although her face did not betray whatever was going on in her mind. “My father taught me to read when I was young. He used to bring me books from his travels.”

“I’m going out on a limb here and assuming Varric is one of your very favourite authors,” I said, to which she gave a slight sputter and I watched as her nostrils flared in irritation.

“I’ve...I’ve read Hard in Hightown, yes,” she said with a tone that seemed more like she was confessing a deep, dark secret.

“Most people have. It’s alright.” I gave a little laugh and began to make my way down the path, turning back to her as she caught my pace. “But that doesn’t explain the templar bit.”

“My mother was a templar. She...I didn’t see her often, she was always so busy.”

“Mage hunting?”

“Probably,” she said, disapprovingly. She looked to me with the sort of hesitation that comes from people who try very hard to weigh a heavy decision in their minds before they speak again, which was a face I had become intimately familiar with after Varric had published his book about me. “What...is it like? Being in love with Anders, I mean.”

I paused to consider her question. Honestly, it wasn’t the first time it had been presented to me -- even Varric asked when he was working on his book, all for the sake of getting an “accurate interpretation” on my relationship with Anders. But truth be told, I had few answers for either of them that would make sense.

“It’s like running around in circles too fast and then coming to a sudden halt,” I said.

“Wouldn’t that make you feel sick?” Artemis asked, and from the corner of my eye I could see a look of concern flash across her face.

Thankfully, whatever half-assed answer I could come up with was stripped from my mind before it could leave my mouth. Ahead of us, a large company of clearly armed men were walking in our direction and, to be perfectly frank, I had very little desire to risk either their ire or conversation. Artemis seemed to pick up on this thought process, seeing as she didn’t even so much as hesitate in following me as I dashed away from the path and toward the woods. I crouched down low behind a bush while Artemis pressed her back up against a large oak, peering carefully around the corner as the men grew closer.

“The royal guard?” she hissed to me quietly. I grimaced as I watched them, the sigil of Denerim clear on their breastplates and shields as they marched passed us. “What are they doing out here?”

“Not to sound too conceited, but they’re probably after me,” I said under my breath. I felt her gaze land back on me for a moment as we sat there, the tension rising with every single man and woman who passed us by. After what felt like an eternity, they were far enough away for me to stand once again, stretching my now aching legs out.

“If they’re truly after you, then it might be wise to avoid the main road for now,” Artemis suggested. “We could use the woods as cover, although it would be a bit dangerous.”

“A bit? I think you mean a lot dangerous,” I quipped, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. “But you’re right. We should use the forest to our advantage, and keep the path in sight.”

 

The weather got progressively worse, as it was wont to do at the most inconvenient times. As we trudged along through the mud, the rain took a turn for the worst -- it beat down on our backs mercilessly, soaking straight through my cloak and right down to my skin. It got colder and colder by the second until, to our great misfortune, the rain had turned into snow by the end of the day.

“We’ll catch our deaths out here,” Artemis said, anger lacing her voice.

“We aren’t far,” I replied, determined as ever. I heard her stumbled behind me, sliding on the rocks beneath us, slippery from the snow.

“Hawke, we can’t continue through the night!” She moved closer to my side, reaching out and grabbing my arm as she forced me to look into her face, reddened from the cold. “You’re no use to Anders if you’re dead, ser.”

I wanted to protest, to argue that we would be at Vigil’s Keep by morning. But my feet felt heavy and my ears felt numb. The cold worked against us so completely it seemed impossible to go on as we were.

Artemis read my thoughts as they were written upon my expression. “There’s an abandoned village just west of here. We can find shelter there, if any still stands.”

“How do you know it’s abandoned?” I asked, pulling my cloak tighter around me.

“My mother told me about it -- lost during the Blight.”

“Oh, wonderful.” I let out a deep sigh, stepping back so that she could lead the way. Beggars can’t be choosers, I reminded myself while I kept a steady pace behind her.

By the time we reached the village, we were damn near frozen. The snow had thus far refused to give in, determined to fall in droves as we shuffled through the whiteness until the homes came into sight.

“Thank the Maker,” I said with shaky words and steaming breath. Artemis did not respond, so focused on keeping herself warm and shivering violently and involuntarily that she had little room to do much else. I took the lead and stopped in front of the first home we came to, mustering enough strength to slam my shoulder against the door until it gave in and swung open.

“Come on,” I said, ushering Artemis in. She hurried inside and bolted straight for the empty fireplace, immediately setting about gathering anything she could find that might easily burn. I carefully replaced the door and joined her in our desperate bid to start a fire. Within mere moments, between the two of us, flames began to grow through the small hearth, and the warmth coming from it washed over me like a thin blanket.

“Andraste’s tears, I was sure we would die out there,” Artemis breathed a sigh of relief while she spoke. “We should look for dry clothing.”

“Hopefully the darkspawn left some behind,” I said.

We set about digging through the nearest chest and a wardrobe sitting in the corner. Fortunately, whoever lived here before had left behind quite a lot -- we were quick to peel off our cold, wet clothing and get into the dry ones. While everything was ill-fitting and incredibly itchy (no doubt from all the bugs and mice that had been roaming around the place), we were at least fortunate to be warming up.

“We’ll need to set off early tomorrow,” I said, retrieving the bread and flask of wine I had at the bottom of my pack, holding half the loaf out to Artemis. I took a generous swig of the wine and offered that to her, too, both of which she eagerly accepted.

“Does it trouble you to be apart?” Her eyes settled on me with such intent that I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. My brow furrowed slightly as I cleared my throat.

“I don’t enjoy being away from Anders, no.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course I do.”

She tilted her head a little as she eyed me and, Maker, was she making me feel uneasy. I felt like I was being sized up by a cloister sister or something with how much scrutiny she directed at me. “What will you do when you find him again?”

“Maker’s breath, Artemis, why are you suddenly so fascinated?” I spat, irate from the sudden interrogation. “We didn’t have a plan when we left Kirkwall. It’s just been about staying together and surviving this entire time.”

“I’m sorry. I was only curious,” she said meekly, bowing her head slightly. “I’ve never been in love, and the stories I’ve heard about you two…”

A pang of guilt shot through me while she spoke. Her curiosity wasn’t malicious and yet I had lashed out at her. Rationally, I knew Anders was a sensitive topic for me; I’d spent so long defending him from my brother, from Sebastian, and nearly everyone in Kirkwall that I’d forgotten not everyone intends to attack him.

“No, don’t apologise. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, not after everything you’ve done to help find him.” I sighed and adjusted myself on the floor, leaning back and propping myself up with my elbows. Turning my attention to the flames dancing before us, I considered her question in silence for a moment.

“I had wanted to take him somewhere far away from everyone, to keep him safe. I even suggested going to Tevinter, but he wanted to come to Ferelden first.”

“Is he from Ferelden?”

“He was at the Circle here, but he was born in the Anderfels.”

“Anders from the Anderfels?” She had an incredulous look on her face then, one of her brows raising just a bit as she glanced at me.

“You’re assuming Anders is his real name,” I said with an apathetic shrug. “And, no, I’m not going to tell you what it really is.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a reason he doesn’t use it.” Artemis seemed to pick up on the fact that I wasn’t willing to say more on the subject, and turned her gaze to the fire. Silence settled between us for a time until I felt myself drifting off into a warm sleep.

 

Sunlight poured in through a large gap in the wall, settled on my face and warming my cheek. It gently goaded me from my dreams, which I was reluctant to leave. Artemis woke not long after I had, but I was already completed with changing into my own clothing, still damp from the day before but not too badly. I was lacing my boots back up while Artemis began to gather her things as well, carefully packing her knapsack with what little we might be able to use from the abandoned home.

“We’ll rejoin Pilgrim’s Path for a time then break west for Hafter’s River,” I said as I pried open the door. “We can keep to the forest and approach Vigil’s Keep from there. So long as no one knows what I look like, we could pass as traders.”

“Right, and how do we get Anders out?” She ducked under my arm and slid carefully through the opening I managed to make, then turned to hold it open so I could follow. The snow had packed against the door heavily, and my leg was immediately plunged to the middle of my calf when I stepped out.

“It’s a plan in progress. I’ll figure it out once we get there.” I adjusted my bow on my shoulder and rubbed my hands together.

The air was brisk and every breath I took felt sharp in my throat. I had nearly forgotten how quickly Ferelden could turn cold, but memories of Lothering came flooding back in no time. And as it happened, winter was just as miserable then too.

We followed along the path I had set out for us, and it seemed as if the snow had been an excellent deterrent for other travellers given how peaceful the journey had been. Things began to warm up the closer we got to Vigil’s Keep, with the sun was sitting higher in the sky now. Artemis and I broke away from the path as Hafter’s River came into view, carefully traversing over the rocks and patches of ice so we didn’t slip into the undoubtedly freezing water.

Before long, the Keep came into sight, with its high walls and towers sitting ominously beyond the tops of the trees we used as cover. Lit torches lined the walls -- odd, I thought, given the sunlight.

“Wait,” I said, stopping Artemis from approaching. She paused and glanced back at me, confusion spread across her face. “Something’s not right.”

She returned to my side and settled near some bushes, waiting while I studied the Keep. Everything seemed still and quiet. Too still and quiet, I decided, and right about now I might have expected a pack of Carta agents to pop out of nowhere and start stabbing my ankles. Because most of them are dwarves, you know? Alright, this wasn’t the time for jokes.

“We can’t just stand here forever,” Artemis said impatiently and I grimaced. Motioning to her, she led the way and unsheathed her sword. I drew my bow and an arrow from my quiver, following after her. Snow crunched beneath my boots as I walked, crouched low in case of bowmen who might see our approach.

But my caution went unneeded. The reason for such silence came to us as we came upon the gate.

“Maker’s breath,” I gasped. Beyond the closed iron gates lay more bodies than I had ever seen. Even the devastation at Kirkwall seemed mild by comparison. This was like every bit of the destruction in that city all brought down in one fell swoop in this place. Blood soaked the earth and stung my nose so viciously I could taste copper.

“Andraste have mercy upon these poor people,” Artemis said, sorrow clinging to her words. “Who could have done this?”

I slid the bow back over my shoulder and wrapped a hand around the iron keeping us out, leaning forward to examine the damage beyond. Scorch marks littered the place, the snow causing those places to billow steam into the air lazily, and several charred bodies told me all I needed to know, though it only served to disturb me further.

Swallowing hard, I turned my head back to look at Artemis. “Magic was used here.”

She gave me a pitying look, which prompted me to turn away from her and step back. My eyes explored the gate, looking for a way to open it from our side.

“Do you think that Anders--”

I cut her off before she could finish, unwilling to listen to the end of that sentence. “Suppose one of us could climb over, provided anyone who might still live doesn’t spot us and decide to start attacking.”

 

Scaling the walls had been a less daunting task without the fear of anyone knocking me down, and once I reached the top I was able to find a rope to throw down for Artemis. I helped her climb over and we both made our way down to the inside of the Keep, carefully stepping over the bodies. I was on high alert, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck standing on end as chills ran down my spine. The carnage here was beyond belief; I couldn’t believe anyone capable of so much death, and yet there lay the proof before me.

“We should split up, search for survivors,” Artemis said quietly. “Take no more than an hour, and we’ll meet back at the statue of Andraste.”

I nodded and made my way toward the nearest building, frowning when my eyes caught sight of the blood splattered across the door. Cautiously, I stepped inside and took a quick look around, inching my way further in while I steadied my breath and looked for any signs of life. The sound of shuffling coming from one corner caused me to jump and swing around with my bow readied, and a flicker of frustration bubbled in my chest when I saw a rat run dash by.

“Bloody rodent,” I muttered. There was no life here, I decided, beyond that little beast, and I exited quickly.

The next half hour was spent searching in vain for anything or anyone that might allude to what had happened here, and the more I saw, the more convinced I was that this hadn’t been done by Anders’s hand.

I was pulled from my observations at the sight of Artemis scrambling toward me, waving her arms and shouting. “Hawke, come quickly!’ Then she turned and began to run again, disappearing around a building.

My legs pushed me forward as fast as I could make them go, and by the time I had seen her again, she was stopped before a door, breathing heavily and looking flushed.

“I found someone -- they know what happened,” she explained in a hushed tone before she pushed the door open and walked inside. I followed after her and shock settled down on me when I saw two small, frightened faces gazing up at us from across the room. A boy no older than thirteen sat huddled against the wall, clutching desperately to a girl half his size. I approached them slowly, careful to show them my hands so they knew I meant no harm, though that didn’t stop them from recoiling still. It was only then that I saw the glint of metal beside them, a blade lying on the ground.

“Don’t suppose giving you my word that I’m not here to hurt you would make a difference, would it?” I asked. “Because even if I did, you’d surely best me with a blade like that.”

The boy eyed me warily, sizing me up for a moment before he shook his head. “You’re no mage.”

“That’s right. I’m Hawke, and this is my friend, Artemis.” I motioned back toward her but kept my eyes on the boy’s face, which was slowly changing into an expression of confusion rather than fear. I counted that as progress.

“Did the king send you?” he asked.

“No, we came here on our own. We were looking for someone -- a friend of mine.” At my words, the girl whimpered pathetically and the boy tightened his arms around her. “What happened here?”

“Hawke, now isn’t the best--” Artemis began, but the boy’s frantic words came spilling from his mouth before she could finish.

“The mages, that’s what! Mother always said they was trouble, and she was right!” The girl began to cry loudly, though the boy continued his hastened explanation in spite of it. “They came last night and starting throwing fire at everyone! Mother told us to run home and hide so they couldn’t turn us into toads.”

“I don’t like toads,” the girl squeaked, her face buried against her brother’s chest.

“I don’t either,” I said, trying to empathise as best I could. They were both clearly frightened, and while I worried my prodding for answers would make it worse, I couldn’t stop the fear that something had happened to Anders from boiling in the back of my mind. “Did they...say anything to you? Did you see anything important?”

“Hawke.” Artemis’s voice was stern, reminiscent of Aveline’s, in fact. Which meant I was able to consciously ignore her with ease.

“Did you know a man named Anders?” I pressed. I heard Artemis take a step forward, no doubt to forcibly remove me from the room, but she stopped when the boy let out a loud gasp.

“Anders is our healer!” His words came out excitedly and I felt a wash of relief flood me until I pushed it down. “He likes kitties,” the girl added, and I couldn’t stop a small smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“And...and he’s here, then? Do you know where he is?” I asked, pleadingly. I was utterly prepared to start offering false promises of devotion to the Maker’s will if it meant seeing Anders’s face again, but from the way the two fell silent, a heaviness weighed down in my gut.

“They took him,” the boy said, averting his gaze. I felt myself waver where I was crouched before them, reaching down with one hand to steady myself as a deep, anguished gasped left my throat.

“Who took him? Do you know where?” Artemis’s voice came to me as if through water.

“The mages -- they said they was here to save him, but they was hurting everyone and he was telling them to stop. He...he stopped them hurting me and Cissa.”  I could feel their eyes watching me while I stood and pushed myself away from the children. I brought one hand up to brush over my mouth and scratch at my chin, an action that in reality did little for me but seemed to help all the same. Artemis stepped toward me, stopping at my side and leaning in close.

“That means he’s alive,” she said. “We can still find him.”

“I didn’t realise you knew where rebel mages were hiding out,” I said ruefully, though I took no pleasure in my remark. “They could have gone in any direction.”

“But they haven’t been gone long. We can still--”

“We’d be lost for days, at best, and if we did find them, we’d be fools to think they’d hand him over without a fight.”

“You think they mean him harm?” Her question earned a scoff and a laugh from me, to which she returned with a dark look.

“I think that with all the templars hunting them, and once word spreads of what they did here, they’d be just as likely to kill him themselves as they would hand him over,” I spat angrily. I could feel dread wrap around inside of me like a snake. “Damn them. Damn them!”

It had been a long time since I felt the sort of anger that made me punch my hand against the wall before me. The pain that came to my fist felt distant, like it hadn’t really affected me, but the feeling of Artemis’s hand placed on my shoulder cut through my thoughts. She opened her mouth, ready to speak, and was yet again cut off by the boy’s interruption.

“They said they was going to Redcliffe,” he said, meek and quiet. I spun around so fast I made all three of them jump. There must have been a wild touch to my expression that inspired the prompt follow-up from the boy. “They said that was the safest place for them right now.”

“Then that’s where we go,” Artemis said, turning to me. “We’d better start now if we have any hope of catching them.”

“This better not be another wild chase,” I said. “or Maker help I will shoot the next damn mage I see.”


	8. Heavy Hearts

We learned that the boy’s name was Ethan, and we already learned the girl’s name was Cissa. Despite our best efforts, we could find no one else alive within the Keep, so Artemis and I took the time to carefully remove bodies from their path as we did our best to lead them through the carnage and beyond the gates. With half the day gone, we had managed to get them as close to Amaranthine as we could where they would easily find their way from there. Our parting was unceremonious; Ethan was a good lad who gave me as stern a handshake as his small hand could muster, and Cissa was content to silently cling around his waist.

“Shouldn’t we go with them?” Artemis asked as we watched them walk down the path. I shook my head and turned away, starting off in our direction.

“They’ll be fine,” I assured her. She started after me before long, picking up a steady pace alongside me.

We trekked for two days through ice and snow until we were once again laid off our path by another storm. It took several miles before we found shelter, into the barn of an incredibly suspicious farmer who made us surrender our weapons to him for the night. Then he decided dawn was the perfect time to demand payment from us, in spite of the previous day’s assumed charity, and I begrudgingly parted with a sovereign before he returned our weapons and allowed us our leave.

“What a wily bastard,” I said, perhaps too cheerfully. “True work of art, that one.”

“People are desperate,” Artemis said diplomatically. I wrinkled my nose and gave a light scoff.

“That wasn’t desperate. That was a perfectly executed con or my name’s not Garrett Hawke.”

“Whatever it was, we should travel as quickly as we can.”

 

Travelling quickly was not, as it happened, something that was done easily. For three days we walked in the miserable cold, only narrowly escaping death and avoiding detection from wayward apostates and the startling number of templars that had decided to go chasing after them. We had originally done our best to keep off the roads, but as we continued through South Reach, the worse things seemed to become.

“Is it just me, or do we have the worst luck in all of Thedas?” I whispered to Artemis as we sat in the snow. We were currently crouching down behind a large bank of snow, waiting impatiently as a group of bandits were slowly picking over their latest conquest. The overturned wagon on the road had, thankfully, been free of any freshly killed bodies. Sadly for us, the bandits seemed a thorough bunch, so the chances of them leaving behind anything for us to use was depressingly low.

While Artemis kept a silent watch on the group, I turned slightly to flop back into the bank, shifting so I could relax. Well, as much as anyone could while they were freezing their balls off at least. Just as my eyes slid closed, I felt a rough push against my shoulder and was welcomed with a stern glare from Artemis as I opened my eyes again.

“What?” I hissed, peeking over the bank. The bandits were still there, but before I could scold Artemis for ruining my chance at a cat nap, she leaned close to me and spoke in a low, quiet voice.

“They’re talking about red lyrium.”

“How can you tell?” I asked, readjusting myself and watching their backs. “I can’t hear a thing.”

“I can hear the singing,” she said. I paused and looked at her, a chill running down my spine as my mind flashed back to Bartrand’s own brand of red lyrium-induced madness. Clearing my throat, I opened my mouth to say something, but the sharp sounds of screaming interrupted my thought.

I jerked my attention to the source. A large group of dwarves, clad in deep blues and blacks, had appeared as if out of thin air and attacked the bandits. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Artemis’s hand trail down to the hilt of her sword just as my own hand was wrapping around my bow. From where we were hiding, it wasn’t very likely that the attackers would take notice of us, but in the event they did, we would be ready for them.

At first, I thought the dwarves were there to slaughter the bandits, yet after several minutes of no dying, I started to question what exactly we were seeing.

“They’re taking them,” Artemis whispered. And in fact, they were. One of the bandits broke away from the ambush and began to run in our direction. I reached for my bow and Artemis for her sword, but we needn’t act; a great chain was swung forward and leashed itself around the man’s neck, jerking him backward and throwing him to the ground with a loud thud. He was mercilessly dragged across the ground, his gasps for air cutting through his companions’ screaming.

“We need to stop this,” I said, anger dripping from every word as I began to stand. Artemis’s hand grasped around my forearm tightly as she tugged me down, her stern gaze telling me all I needed. My shoulders sagged as I conceded to her unsaid point -- we were hopelessly outnumbered, and the cold granted us no advantage. Risking ourselves to save bandits was foolish.

After what seemed an eternity, when all the bandits had been rounded up, the dwarves began to drag them away, urging them along as if they were druffalo. We waited until we couldn’t see their backs any longer, and by the time we stood from our hiding spot, the sun had already fallen behind the trees. Artemis took the first steps to the loot they’d left behind while I adjusted my bow and quiver, rubbing my hands together vigorously as I moved to join her at a slower pace. It was so cold that the snow clinging to our clothes had not yet melted, though that wasn’t actually a good thing.

“They left behind everything,” I said, taking note to the boxes of discarded apples and salted pork that had fallen to the ground. I bent down and began to gather as much as I could, stuffing everything into my pack. “We need to grab what we can and--”

“We need to follow them,” Artemis suddenly spoke. My gaze found her standing still, staring blankly in the direction the bandits had been taken. A frown pushed my mouth into a downward turn and I straightened, shutting the knapsack and swinging it over my shoulder again.

“And what good would that do us?” I asked, my voice taking on a scathing tone. “We’d have no better luck in that endeavour than we would have if we’d tried to fight them.”

“They were talking about red lyrium,” she argued, turning to face me fully. A look of determination wrote itself across her face as she continued to speak, making it quite clear just how seriously she felt about this particular matter. “We have to know why. We have to know if they found more.”

“Do we? Because I feel like this is something we don’t really HAVE to do so much as it is something you want to do,” I countered. Her determination was matched by my irritation, which by now was clearly bubbling to the surface of my own body language.

“Hawke, we NEED to--”

“You keep saying we as if I’m the one who murdered their entire village under the influence of red lyrium,” I snapped.

It seemed I had a gift for saying incredibly terrible things and then immediately drowning in guilt. Must be a Hawke thing. The look on her face caused me to look upward to the sky, bringing my hands up to cover my eyes while I groaned and took a step back from her. Artemis, on the other hand, remained silent, her mouth pressed tightly closed.

I thought about it only for a moment before I let out a heavy sigh. “It’s just...it seems the closer we get to Anders, we’re constantly pushed in the opposite direction. I can’t lose him. I won’t lose him for anything.”

“Then I’ll go alone,” she said, decidedly.

“Well, if you keep that kicked puppy look they might be willing to simply lay down their arms and spill all their secrets.”

It was her turn to angrily snap at me. “Don’t talk to me as if I’m a little girl playing soldier.” I held up my hands in surrender and then motioned in the direction the men had all disappeared to.

“We’d best get a move on, then, if we’re to catch them,” I said.

“Then...you’re coming with me?”

“What can I say? I can’t resist life-threatening situations...or wastes of time.” I sighed and looked to our new path. This was going to be a very long night indeed.

 

As night fell on us, the cold became more bitter, biting at our cheeks and ears as we trudged through ice and snow. Fortunately for us, a full moon was out, providing us with enough light to follow the trail our new friends had left behind. I pulled my cloak tighter around myself, keeping myself occupied with the barrage of curses that raced through my mind.

“We’re getting close,” Artemis said. There was something in her voice that made me pause to examine her carefully for a moment. Something not quite right in it, though I couldn’t place it.

I rushed into the silence she left after her words. “Good. We’ll see what they’re up to and be off quick then.” She didn’t respond to me, which I took for a sign that this was likely going to be a much more difficult evening than I’d intended for.

In the distance, the sight of torches began to become clearer, and the moonlight spilled over the tall spiked fences that stood on the top of the hill before us. We slowed our pace at the same time, and Artemis followed me unquestioningly as I moved to take cover behind the snow-covered boulders along the path. From what I could see, there were no guards to speak of immediately in sight, though it did occur to me that they might be just beyond the first fence. I frowned at the thought of having to carve a path through them just to investigate something we weren’t entirely sure on.

“Can you hear it?” Artemis said, her words catching in her throat. I turned to look at her, and there was raw emotion to her expression that took even me aback.

“Hear...what?” I was wary of what I was inviting with my question, but she didn’t seem to notice my apprehension.

“The song...it’s so beautiful.” Artemis suddenly began to move away from our cover and walk toward the fence, as if in a trance. I launched myself forward in time to catch her arm and yank her to me, the action making her lose her footing and back backward against me. The impact against my chest seemed to knock some sense into her at the same time as it knocked the wind out of me, but I paid it no mind. She shook her head vigorously and looked around, confused.

“What happened?” She demanded to know, and who was I to deny her?

“You started going nutty and I decided to knock you around a bit,” I explained. She stared at me a moment, as though she were trying to decide if she was grateful or annoyed by my interruption, and seemed to choose the former in the end. She gave a curt nod and returned to her spot beside the boulder.

“We have to get in there somehow,” she said. “Maybe we can find a way to destroy whatever red lyrium they found.”

“Maybe if we knock three times and offer them sweets they’ll be obliged to let us in without incident?”

My suggestion was soundly ignored as she continued to speak. “Once we’re inside, we could cause a distraction that might give us time to find it.”

“That’s so easy. Plans always work out for us, don’t they?” Oh, sarcasm, how fond I am of your assistance in these matters. She shot me a venomous look and her face twisted into a scowl before she practically spat her next words.

“You’ve got a real suggestion then?”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve got a brilliant plan that involves you not going insane at the least opportune moment.” I said all of this as I was busy studying the vague outline of a man pacing from just beyond a medium-sized hole near the main gate. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but my brief struggle with Artemis had given me the opportunity to spot it.

I continued, uninhibited by her deepening frown, while I was peeling off my bow, quiver, and knapsack and unceremoniously dropping them on her shoulders. “You wait here and look for my signal.”

Distracted by my sudden need to make her carry my things, Artemis couldn’t stop me from dashing away from our cover and right up the hill. I heard her hiss something likely unpleasant about me as I raised both my arms up to show my surrender. And certain enough, a dwarf appeared seemingly from thin air on the left side of the gate, her(?) arrow aiming straight to my chest.

“Please, serah! I’ll catch my death out here! My wife -- she’s ill, and I need--” My pleas were interrupted by the dwarf withdrawing her bow and rushing to me, slamming her foot directly to one of my kneecaps. A jolt of pain shocked its way through me as I fell to the ground, a cry escaping my mouth.

“Quiet, human!” Definitely a she commanded, taking the opportunity of our matching heights to grab a handful of my hair and practically drag me toward the gate. It swung open and I almost instantly regretted all of my life choices leading up to this point.

I was being led into a large campsite, in the centre of which was a dark pit. As we neared, I could see that a series of steps spiralled downward, lined by torches every few feet, so far down below that I was unable to see beyond a certain point. They didn’t allow me much time to continue my examinations. The dwarf that had me pulled me up until I was on both feet yet still forced to bend forward, since she still had a handful of my hair clutched tightly between her fingers. I hissed against the pain, gritting my teeth while I tried my best not to show my discomfort. I was pulled to a tent and shoved inside, and the relief I felt from her releasing my hair lasted all too briefly.

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I could see a man standing only a few feet away with his back turned toward me. He was bent over a table some, his broad shoulders brushed by thick, curly dark hair. The dwarf that had brought me rushed to his side and said something in a low voice and language I couldn’t understand. He remained still for a moment before giving her a curt nod, and as she turned to leave, she cast me a dark look.

“A wanderer, are you?” His accent told me he was Antivan.

“Not at all. A farmer, actually and like I told that lovely dwarf, my wife is--”

“There’s no need to lie. You followed us here, waited outside our gates for an opportunity to trespass.”

Alright. Stranger things have happened, I decided as I tried to figure out what I could say next. If he knew I had come here, did that mean he knew about Artemis too? I tilted my head back slightly and stared at his back during the long silence that fell between us. Several moments later, he pushed off of the table and turned toward me.

Now that I could see him properly, I took note of a few things almost immediately; first of all, he was an older man of tall stature, with bits of grey peppering his dark hairline with deep lines all over his face to show his age. He had a nose that looked larger than it might have on a different face, as his was quite narrow and gaunt looking. A dusting of greying facial hair adorned his jawline, and I had the distinct impression that it was probably a permanent look for him.

While I had taken the time to study his features, he appeared to be doing the same to me. His eyes trailed over me slowly, but it felt like the sort of studying a predator did to his prey. It put me on edge, made the airs on my arms and the back of my neck to stand up straight, though I held my ground under his gaze.

“Do you think I don’t know who you are?” he said, his rumbling voice rife with amusement.

“Oh, Andraste’s knickers, you’ve discovered my secret. Well, I confess -- I am, in fact, Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven, Prince of Pompous Piety.” I said, though I knew very well that my efforts in covering my ass were futile at best. He gave a bark of laughter and shook his head, wagging his index finger at me.

“They did say you had quite the humour on you, Champion,” he said.

“I’m really going to have to talk to Varric about this,” I muttered under my breath, earning another laugh from my captor.

“They also said you were a--”

“They say a lot of things and honestly they’re only right about half the time.” I interrupted him before he could finish, my jaw tensing slightly in my aggravation.

“Indeed, my friend. Indeed.” He let out a heavy sigh and his eyes darted to the entrance of his tent and, for a moment, I seriously considered my chances of offering him an autograph in exchange for my freedom. Then, he spoke again.

“What a predicament you’ve put me in, Champion. I cannot kill you, for surely you have friends who will come looking. But I cannot let you go either, you see.”

“Well you could do that second bit. Sounds fair to me.”

He let out a hearty chuckle. “If only it were so easy, hm?”

“All you have to do is give the word.”

“And if I did that, you would leave and never come back, hm?”

“Oh, of course. I’m well known for my ability to let innocent people become slaves against their will in creepy quarries with an evil overseer.” Anders would probably have kicked me in the head for blowing a chance at escape like that, but I couldn’t help myself. This guy reeked of smarm. The smarmiest of the smarm, that’s what he was, and there was no chance in all of Thedas I was going to just walk away from this. Was that the best path to survival? No, not really. The way he laughed only reaffirmed that thought.

“I’m afraid neither of those things will do, Champion. For you...I have a different plan.”

I’d had every intention of saying something else -- a witty one-liner, or a snarky retort of some kind -- but just as I opened my mouth I felt something heavy slam against the back of my head. At first, I saw stars. And then, only darkness.


	9. Oh, Darling, What Have You Done?

_You're an idiot,_  his voice sounds far away, but I can clearly see him. He’s sitting beside me. I’m lying in bed. Blond hair is loose from its small ponytail, falling forward like curtains covering part of his face.

Anders.

Wait.

 _You shouldn't have said that,_  he says, reaching forward and placing one hand on my forehead. His skin against mine brings me a comfort I cannot describe. I feel good. Calm. Safe. My eyes slid closed easily, yet somehow, I can still see him. His lips are pressed into a slight frown. I don’t mind. He’s here with me, isn’t he?

Wait.

_You've got to wake up, love._

What do you mean, wake up? I am awake. I laugh at his suggestion. What a strange thing to say.

_No, my love. You aren't._

Wait.

No, I’m not. I’m in our bed, at home in Kirkwall.

_Open your eyes._

Wait.

I don’t want to.

_Do it for me, love._  


But I--

_Do it anyway._

Maker, you’re pushy.

 

My eyes fluttered open, but I could tell immediately I was not lying in my comfortable bed back in Kirkwall. Unless my bed had always been made of rocks, anyway. I groaned and willed myself to sit up straight, my blurry vision struggling to focus as I looked around.

Rocks. Rocks everywhere, save for the large iron bars that surrounded the fairly small square space I was in. And since I wasn’t a Qunari elf, I probably wasn’t getting out that way.

As I began to stand, a woman’s voice sounded from across the room, light and airy in stark contrast to the rough surroundings.

“I wouldn’t move so fast, if I were you.”

“And why’s that?” I asked, my voice hoarse in my throat. Her warning seemed to have some merit, however; my head was swimming, throbbing with pain, and my legs felt weak. I slumped against the wall behind me for support.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” she said matter-of-factly. “But then, we all have.”

“Okay. Creepy.” She gave a giggle at my comment, which did absolutely nothing to deter the sentiment behind my words. As my body continued its attempt at waking up, I became acutely aware that something was...off. Wrong. I brought my hand up to rub my face and a groan escaped my mouth involuntarily.

“How’s your arm?” she asked. Until her question, I hadn’t even realised I should have been worried for my arm, but now that she asked, I was very suddenly aware of the pain practically pulsating up my entire left arm. Dread began to build itself up like a stone wall in my gut as I looked down and saw a blood stained bandaged was wrapped tightly around my forearm.

“What did they do to me?” I asked, to which she let out another small giggle. “Could you maybe _not_ do that anymore?” I added with a cringe.

“Sorry, but you don’t remember? Truly?” She sounded incredulous, like I had missed some incredibly obvious punchline to a terrible joke. If she could see my face, she’d be gifted with an earth-shattering glare.

I heard something shuffling, and from the little light that the lone torch on a beam in the middle of the room provided, I could make out a vague figure where the woman’s voice had been coming from. It wasn’t until I forced myself to move closer to the iron bars that I could see more of her; blonde hair, coated in dirt, and a pale, tattooed face that was currently beaming at me.

“They cut you right up,” she said. “Stuck little bits in you to see what would happen.”

“They did _what_?” I asked, unable to mask the horror soaking my words.

The woman leaned against her own bars and stuck a white arm out, then used her other hand to trace one of her fingers along her forearm.

“Right here -- sliced you up good, ser. But you didn’t die! Most people they done that to just die,” she said, cheerfully. “Most of ‘em squeal, too. You didn’t squeal, though. Made not a single sound.”

I dropped my gaze down to the bandage on my arm and grimaced. “Sounds like I missed a bit.”

“You’re important, ain’t you?” she asked. I looked at her and watched as she leaned further against the bars, settling her face neatly between a pair. “They usually kill ‘em when they’re done with ‘em, but you’re still you.”

“Maybe it’s just because I’m so pretty,” I said. So long as she didn’t recognise me, I might still have a hand to play in all this. Her smile widened and I could see that she was missing a tooth.

“You are pretty,” she purred. As riveting as I found this conversation, the overwhelming urge to escape had only heightened the longer I spent speaking to and looking at her. There was definitely something wrong with her -- she was clearly either mad or...yeah, mad. In the way that made me think she was going to eat my flesh.

Just as my mind began to search for ways to escape this increasingly uncomfortable interaction, the sound of approaching footsteps drew my attention. The woman gave a low whining noise and retreated from the light, disappearing into the darkness just as the figure came into view.

“Ah, Champion,” said the same man I’d been speaking to before I found myself waking up here. He gave a lazy, insincere smile and approached the bars. I forced myself to stand straighter in defiance; it didn’t matter how weak my knees felt or how much my arm hurt, I would not let myself appear his victim.

“I’m glad to see you’ve awoken. I was afraid we had lost you for a moment,” he said.

“Well, you know, since I’m a guest I thought it’d be rude of me to up and die,” I said. He let out a bark of laughter and leaned against the pillar in the centre of the room, crossing one of his ankles over the other while he eyed me.

“You still have that sense of humour I like so much. I’m surprised. Most men in your position would not easily find themselves in a joking mood.”

“Suppose I’m not like most men, then,” I said.

“Indeed.”

A heavy silence fell between us like a curtain, so densely that I could only hear my own heart beat against my chest steadily. I still felt weary, in spite of how long I had slept, but I would hold my gaze to his face while he quietly studied me. It was as if he was expecting something to happen, and though I had no idea what he wanted, I was growing impatient.

“Let him out,” he said to the darkness. “He is free to go.” Materialising from the shadows, a dwarf took several steps toward my door and unlocked it. The iron swung open, the sound of groaning metal echoing throughout the small space. I stared at my captor suspiciously, unwilling to accept the apparent charity.

“Do you not trust me?” he asked when I hadn’t yet budged from my spot. I gave a loud scoff and allowed a bitter laugh to fall from my mouth.

“I’m not an idiot. You’ve done something to me, haven’t you?” I said.

“Yes,” he said, watching me closely.

“Letting me go is all part of your little experiment, then.”

“Oh, certainly. You are a sharp one.”

“Experimentation really doesn’t agree with me. I’m allergic to insanity, you see.”

“Very sharp.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

“I see.” He pushed away from where he stood and walked toward me. I was preparing myself for another round of banter when the ground shook violently, effectively inhibiting my ability to stand any longer. I staggered for a moment in my effort to catch myself, but hit the dirt and rocks beneath me only a second later, the pain from the impact eliciting a yell from me.

“Get up there!” the man shouted, and I could hear the distinct sound of his lackeys scrambling up the flimsy wooden stairs. He followed after them, seemingly forgetting all about my existence as I lay confused in the dirt. My eyes caught sight of the keys lying on the ground before me, and I reached out to grab them.

“Maker’s breath,” I gasped, trying to block out the intense pain coming from my arm. My whole body shook while I struggled to stand.

“Hey! Hey, you! Big important man!”

“Oh, good, you’re alive,” I sighed as I wrapped my hand around an iron bar and used it to help me gain balance.

“You’re gonna help me, right? I helped you!” Her shrieking voice told me she might have been just a little panicked. If anything, the headache she was giving me was good indication of that at least.

Honestly, for a moment, I really did consider not helping her. Yet still I stumbled across the room on shaky legs, stopping just before the iron containing her and fumbling to unlock the door.

“Hurry...hurry…” She urged, rocking back and forth in her spot.

“That’s really not helping,” I said just as I popped the door open. I didn’t get a chance to step back before she came scurrying and immediately bolted up the stairs, leaving me behind.

I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t have long to lament my choice. I shuffled to the stairs and practically dragged myself up there, the sounds of battle becoming louder and louder as I neared the exit.

Daylight had spread across the camp; it was high noon, probably, and I was temporarily blinded by the suddenness of the light that I stepped into. As my vision came into focus, I saw armour-clad men and women engaged with the dwarves I assumed had been with the Big Bad Man from the start. The fighting was intense and since I was unarmed, I would need to do my best to stay out of sight.

“This way!” came a loud hiss to my left. The woman who had previously abandoned me was crouched low behind a stack of wooden boxes and I limped hurriedly to her side. In the daylight, I could make out more of her features -- a Dalish elf, heavily tattooed, with matted white-blonde hair and a severe, narrow face.

She was grinning from ear-to-ear by the time I reached her, apparently revelling in all the fighting. “These are your friends, ain’t they?”

“If they are, I owe them a lot more than just a fruit basket,” I said, turning my attention to the battle. My vision had adjusted enough to where I could make out who was fighting who, and frankly, I wasn’t entirely sure I was okay with it.

“The Royal Guard,” I muttered warily under my breath. “Of course it is.”

A sudden shock of agony shot through my arm, tearing me from my begrudging thoughts. My other hand pressed down over the blood-soaked bandage and I doubled over in pain, and I could feel the Dalish woman’s gaze zero in on me.

“Maker!” I panted as the pain began to ebb away.

“C’mon,” she said, licking her lips before turning tail and making a run along the backside of a large tent. I followed after her as best I could, careful to keep low enough so as to not be noticed. We stopped again just behind the largest tent, which I assumed belong to Mr. Bad, and oh look -- he was no where in sight. And the gates were wide open.

Too open.

“Wait!” I said, reaching out to grab the Dalish as she made a mad dash toward apparent freedom. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t care to hear me, and I watched as a blade appeared almost out of nowhere and shot itself right into her ankle. She went down with a terrible howl and I looked away. There was nothing I could do to help her, not in the state I was in. Maker only knew how I was going to survive this escape anyway. A burning sensation ran up my injured arm as I fought hard not to think about what was going to become of my new companion.

But there was no horrible screaming or awful bone crushing or flesh ripping sounds that followed; instead, I heard a familiar voice call out to me.

“Hawke! Thank the Maker!”

“Artemis?” I said, standing up fully. She was running toward me, blade in hand and wearing a full set of armour, which bore Theirin’s house symbol across its breastplate proudly.

“And where have you been?” I demanded. She had stopped to help Dalish up to her feet, but paused long enough to cast me an incredulous look.

“Gathering up the rescue party,” she said, a touch of pride in her voice.

“Uh-huh. Took you bloody long enough.” But I had no actual ill-will toward her. I was beaming, genuinely glad and relieved to see her even if it meant probably having to deal with Lady Warden McQueenpants again.

“You look like shit,” Artemis pointed out as she drew closer.

“This is real touchin’ and all,” Dalish interrupted before we could continue our conversation, “but we’ve got to go and I’m not standin’ around here while you loons talk!”

“She’s right. The king sent a good number of men to help me find you. I’d hate for it to be a waste by getting you killed during the rescue.” Artemis sheathed her sword and rushed to my side, taking my uninjured arm and pulling it across her shoulders.

“Much as I appreciate the effort,” I started as I leaned against her, “you DO realise I’m like two of you, right?”

“If I’m strong enough to tolerate your bullshit, I’m strong enough to carry you like the damsel you are,” she said with a sly grin.

“Oh, stop, you’ll make me cry.”

I did my best to alleviate my weight from Artemis. Strong though she might be, I knew that if I were to lose my balance or allow myself to be completely carried by her, we wouldn’t make it more than a few feet before she’d collapse. I limped gingerly along, feeling much like I had submerged my head under water. The fighting seemed to have been dying off, but who was coming out victorious was not something I could say. I was too focused on getting out of this shit hole alive.

“Wait -- stop,” I said with a gasp. The burning was too much now; my entire arm felt like it was on fire, and somehow the bandage was making it worse. Artemis stopped and studied me from the corner of her eye as I worked feverishly to rip away the bandage. “Get it...get it off! Get it off!”

“Okay, okay!” Artemis said, releasing my arm and stepping in front of me. I was practically clawing at my own skin trying to peel away the bandages that had become stuck to me. Artemis blocked my hand with her own gloved ones, gently nudging it away while she worked to unravel the cloth.

“C’mon!” Dalish whined. “C’mon, we can’t stay here!”

“I just need it off,” I said, surprised by my own desperation.

Artemis remained silent while she unwrapped the bandage, and once it was removed I saw her brow furrow in concern. Her worried look was overwritten by the wash of relief I felt.

“Andraste’s tears...Hawke...” Artemis said. And her worry was well-founded, as I took in the sight of my own arm.

It appeared as though someone had torn back a large chunk of my flesh, buried something beneath my skin, and haphazardly sewn me back up; a long, jagged line had been cut deep into my skin and pulled back together by a string of crooked stitches. I felt sick to my stomach as it dawned on me what they must have put in me.

“It’s red lyrium,” I said. Artemis gave a slow nod, her eyes transfixed on my arm. I covered it as best I could with my other hand, but touching it sent a small wave of pain through my body and I winced against myself. “We shouldn’t linger.”

I mustered up enough strength to walk alongside Artemis, who had fallen silent as we went. Although I was still very weak, I was determined to keep from collapsing. Getting away from that place was my first priority at this rate, and the bigger the distance we put between ourselves and the sounds of people fighting, the better. I was just about to celebrate our stealthy escape from the Royal Guard when my eyes landed on a number of horses and yet more armoured people just a short distance away. And to my chagrin, there was a rather ornate looking carriage sitting dead centre among them, too.


	10. It Was Red

Of course, I had expected to see the Queen Warden to step out of the carriage in all her arrogance and start making snide remarks about timely rescues -- it just seemed like something she’d do, probably because I would do exactly that myself if I was a queen they call ‘The Hero of Ferelden.’  Instead, in a shocking turn of events, it was her husband who greeted us as we entered the carriage. I could hardly come up with anything witty to say in response to whatever ridiculous excuse for a greeting he gave, and it was only at Artemis’s cross expression that I refrained from trying.

The carriage ride was not the most gentle, which meant it quickly became my least favourite method of transportation. But I reasoned with myself that walking was worse (probably) and I pushed myself back in my seat and pressed my eyes closed tightly. I tried in vain to block out the pain in my arm. What had at a time been a dull throbbing had become a sharp, stabbing agony that was getting progressively worse with every wobble the carriage made.

“Looks painful.”

I let out a low growl from the back of my throat, mentally daring the man had spoken to make another asinine comment. He responded with a low chuckle and I snapped my eyes open when I felt someone touch my injured arm. The touch was gentle, unthreatening, but I wouldn’t have called it welcome. Instinctively, I pulled my arm away from the grasp, yet the hand held firm. My eyes narrowed at the robed offender.

Said offender had to be no older than myself -- perhaps in his mid-thirties -- with dark brown skin and deep almost black eyes. His high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes made me believe he had at least some elven blood in him.

“You don’t need to worry, Champion,” the king said. “Enchanter Thomas is quite skilled. Without him, I’d be dead by now.”

“You do make it a challenge, sire,” Thomas replied off-handedly, turning my arm over to examine it closer. The king gave a bark of laughter and nodded his agreement.

“What are you looking for?” Artemis asked, using the words I couldn’t quite form at the moment. I’d have to remember to thank her later.

“Whatever this red lyrium is, it’s certainly not very friendly,” Thomas replied passively. He gently pushed his forefinger underneath the bandage and shifted it upward. I swallowed hard and felt my muscles tense in my arm; the cloth was rubbing against the half-assed stitches on my skin, somehow managing to shoot more pain through me.

“Corypheus,” I managed to spit out. Thomas made no effort to look up, though his brow furrowed and I felt the king throw me a questioning look. “Mad old bastard we fought in the Deep Roads a while back. Ancient Tevinter magister or some such -- he had this shit sticking out of him.”

No one offered an answer. Silence settled between us, and I’d nearly forgotten that Dalish had come along with us until she chose that moment to let out a stream of near-maniacal giggles.

“Ancient Tevinter magister? Sounds like you got more than your arm scrambled, birdman.” I shot her a sideways glare, but she seemed more interested in her ankle, which she had crossed over her other knee. Thomas gave a slight cluck of his tongue as he pulled the bandage back down over my wound and released my arm. I cradled it gingerly, frowning down at it while he settled back against his seat.

“I’m surprised, Champion,” the king broke through the quiet that followed Dalish’s outburst. “I’ve heard a lot about you, and usually the stories aren’t completely wrong. But I could have sworn I’d read somewhere that you were a--”

“You heard wrong,” I cut him off before he could finish. Artemis pressed her lips into a thin line as she looked at me. I ignored her curious gaze, instead focusing my attention on the bemused expression on the king’s face.

“It would help us determine what we could expect if we knew the truth,” Thomas reasoned gently. He was no exception to the dark look I was casting his king, but Thomas’s own expression never wavered.

“You’ll forgive me if I have a hard time believing any of you have got mine, or Anders’s, best interests in mind.”

“Anders is in no danger from me,” the king answered, giving me an incredulous laugh. “My wife would have my head if I even thought about it. Surely you know that he and the queen were close once.”

“Once,” I quipped. “Once upon a time almost ten years ago doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

“Surely you don’t think that--”

“Your wife had him arrested and taken to the Grey Wardens against his will.”

“It was for his own protection.”

“A prison is a prison. The Circle, the Keep, it doesn’t matter where.”

Thomas interrupted us, loudly clearing his throat and locking his gaze on my face. “And you think pretending you’re not a mage is going to help him now?”

I fell silent, my mouth turned downward as I did my best to not notice the audible gasp from Dalish. Artemis remained still, and I could feel all of their eyes honed in on me, as if waiting for my reaction.

But I had none to give. Defeated, I sagged my shoulders and leaned back into the cushion behind me.

“Not many mages risk travelling without their staff, though, nor do they attempt to learn anything else.” Thomas pressed on, his eyes boring into me. My own narrowed in response.

“I wasn’t raised in the Circle. My father was keen to make sure his children knew how to keep your templars at bay.” The words fell out of my mouth automatically, but the bitter undertone wasn’t lost.

“Well, the bards will have to revise a few details.” The king seemed wholly unaffected by the revelation as he gave a cheeky grin and turned to look at Thomas. “Have any theories about our latest Most Terrible Thing Ever?”

“I have a few, but…” Thomas was eyeing me again, and by this point, I was very decidedly done with being scrutinised by this pompous little shit. “I think for now, the Champion deserves some rest.”

Alright. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, and maybe I wouldn’t wring his neck.

“Just call me Hawke,” I said, raspily. “Unless you prefer ‘Champion,’ in which case I can only assume you’ve got a crush on me.”

Thomas quirked an eyebrow at me, but said nothing. The stoic ones were always the cutest, and I dimly noted that he had surrendered to a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Get some rest, Champion.”

“You like me,” I breathed with a laugh. But the prospect of rest was, in fact, rather enticing. I leaned my head back, and while I did my best to remain at least semi-conscious as they began to speak of something new in hushed words, I couldn’t stop myself from slipping into the black.

 

I knew I’d woken up a number of times before the carriage came to a stop and Artemis was gently shaking my shoulder. The problem was, the pain had become so intense during those intervals, I had begun to rely on the hum of magic from Thomas’s on my arm to bring me enough comfort to rest. Being awake was far too painful, far too intense, and I couldn’t be sure exactly how much time had passed before I was blinking away confusion.

“You look terrible,” I commented to Artemis. She gave a slight huff and said something in response -- likely a very witty insult, but I was far too gone to comprehend. I accepted her help in easing me out of the carriage, glancing around in curiosity. We were alone, I noted, which seemed rather odd to me. Artemis was strong, but she was still much smaller than I was. I struggled to maintain my balance on shaky legs as I touched the stone ground beneath us.

“You didn’t have to do that,” came a voice, and I looked up to see Thomas approaching with two guardsmen in tow. “I told you I was going to fetch someone to help carry him.”

“He doesn’t need coddling,” Artemis snorted, maintaining her strength as she held me steady. I knew it was more than that; neither of us trusted the situation, and I was grateful that she recognised my own reticence.

Thomas frowned, but he still insisted upon giving one guard a quick nod. He joined Artemis on my other side, and I couldn’t deny that the support he provided helped immensely in making sure I didn’t fall flat to the ground. I felt Artemis’s arm tighten around my middle as the two began to follow after Thomas, leading me along enough to allow me some walking on my own.

“We’ll take him to my chambers for now. There he can rest and I can get a proper look at his arm, and we can figure out how to get it out of his skin safely.” Thomas explained coolly, making slight motions with his hands as he spoke. Neither Artemis nor I spoke, choosing only to exchange looks with one another. As we walked along, I could tell that it wasn’t just me keeping a lookout for any potential exits in case we needed to make a quick escape. It seemed Artemis and I shared the same anxiety.

Reaching Thomas’s chambers was significantly more difficult than it really should have been. It took three flights of stairs and a series of seemingly endless hallways before I was unceremoniously (but lightly) settled onto the bed. I felt my body sink into the soft mattress beneath me, and I found myself suddenly very nostalgic for my estate in Kirkwall.

Thomas wasted no time at all undressing the bandage on my arm, and I watched as if in a daze while he did. The guard left us alone, but Artemis refused to leave my side. When Thomas glanced her way, she merely straightened her stance. I smiled fondly to myself, thinking back to the way Aveline would do the same thing when one of us had invariably wound up in trouble, or hurt.

But the feeling of the wound being out in the open again distracted me from my thoughts. The air caused it to sting, and I grimaced while Thomas cleared off and dragged a small table across the room. He placed it before me, and I set my arm down on the wooden surface carefully. At the sight of an impossibly tiny knife -- if one could even call it that -- I could hear Artemis shuffle in place.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s a tool surgeons use. It’s much finer than the average blade, and far sharper. Don’t worry -- I’ve used one of these before.”

His explanation didn’t seem to do much for her concern, and she inched closer as he brought the blade down and carefully set about undoing the haphazard stitches. I grit my teeth and my free hand found the edge of the table, which I squeezed tightly.

It seemed that he was going slow on purpose only to spite me, though it did occur to me that perhaps he was doing so out of caution instead. Both scenarios were likely in my foggy mind as I struggled to maintain some dignity. Artemis hovered closely, her eyes trained onto Thomas’s inhumanly steady hands as he carefully undid the bloody string. After what felt like an eternity, I realised that, without the stitches, my flesh had been split open enough to see the faintly glowing red buried there. Suddenly, even though it was empty, I felt my stomach lurch but I caught the bile in my throat just in time.

“Now this...is the tricky part.” Somehow, Thomas’s furrowed brow did little to put me at ease. I watched as he wiped his hands off on a clean cloth. There was hesitation written plainly on his face -- so clear that I hardly noticed he was speaking to me until I heard Artemis say my name.

“Just do it,” I said, disregarding anything he may have said. He bit down on his lower lip but gave a curt nod before he retrieved another tool from a small box. It looked like a pair of tweezers, yet it was bigger than the ones I’d seen before. He brought it closer and very slowly pressed the metal ends into the folds of my skin. I clenched my jaw, my teeth grinding as my grip tightened on the edge of the table and I forced my breathing into steady beats. The further the metal pressed into my arm, the more I tried to block out the pain.

I could feel the way the stone in my arm was grabbed, and then felt the way that Thomas began to carefully shift it left and right, easing it out of the muscle it was grazing. Distantly, I wondered if my arm would be useless after this. I’d heard stories from Anders about surgeries that had gone wrong, how people would lose the ability to feel or even move limbs that had been practised on.

On the plus side, I could call myself One-Armed Hawke. A proper pirate nickname, all set and ready to join Isabela’s crew. If I had the energy to do so, I would have laughed at my own musings.

“There.” Thomas’s voice cut through my thoughts and I realised suddenly that he was no longer digging around in my arm. I opened my eyes reluctantly and immediately caught sight of three red stones sitting on the table a few inches away from my bleeding arm. Thomas had set about applying new bandages while I narrowed my eyes down at the stones, and my confusion must have been apparent on my face, because he started to talk to me again.

“I’m not sure what effects it had on you, if it had any at all. I doubt it was in you long enough to do much damage, but…” His trailing off told me enough and I gave a curt nod.

“We’ll just have to wait and see if I suddenly get the urge to commit crimes against humanity,” I finished for him. He fought against the wry grin that tugged at his lips.

“What do we do with those?” Artemis asked quickly. I  glanced at her and saw that her eyes were locked onto those stones, and my brow furrowed slightly. “Hawke -- we should --”

I had a sinking feeling I knew where she was going with her words. I reached around with my free hand, flexing my fingers briefly so regain some feeling into them, and scooped the red lyrium onto the floor, away from her sight. It was a temporary fix, but it did make her look away from them with her wide eyes shifting to focus on my face.

“Destroy them. We can’t risk having them anywhere near us.” I said sternly.

“Are the stories true, then? About Knight-Commander Meredith?” Thomas asked, his lips thinning as I shifted in my seat. He’d wound the bandages tightly around my arm and released me, sitting back in his own chair.

“Yes, and as much as I like having statues of myself made, I’d rather not actually become one anytime soon.”

“Probably the wisest choice,” he agreed with a slow nod.

Artemis shuffled in place, fidgeting as if her skin itched, before she straightened her back and began to walk for the door. I opened my mouth, but she was quick to wheel around and look at me.

“I’m going to the gardens. Your -- that elf. She said she’d be there. I want to ask her more about what happened to you.” Her explanation was hasty, but I didn’t figure she was lying. I gave her a nod in response and watched as she exited hurriedly.

Thomas looked at me with a questioning gaze, and I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just a bit squeamish is all.”

He didn’t seem all that convinced, but thankfully chose not to push the issue further. I watched him bend forward and begin to pick up the stones, carefully placing them into a small pouch and closing it tightly.

“The king said he wanted to see you after we were through,” he said, helpfully. I forced myself to stand from my seat, my knees feeling weak and shaky, and I made no effort to mask the exaggerated roll of my eyes I offered in response.

“Not the queen this time? Shocking.” She was the one who seemed interested in my affairs, after all, and not that I didn’t have the utmost respect for the rulers of Ferelden and all, but really.

“She left a few weeks back, actually.” I raised my eyebrows, and he continued. “Some important Grey Warden business.”

I blinked, genuinely surprised. “Oh.”

“But the king was still quite insistent.”

“Right. Of course. Mustn’t keep His Highness waiting, then.”

“I wouldn’t advise it, normally, but I think he’d make an exception for you. Not that I’m saying you should take your time, Champion, but--”

“No, no. I’ll go now, get it over with. What’s one more pointless meeting with unelected officials to me, anyway?” I adjusted the bandage on my arm slightly as I shot him a smooth wink. He frowned.

“Well, I’ll just be going then. Care to join me?” I asked and offered out my arm. He shook his head and shook the little pouch a bit, nodding toward it.

“No -- I thought I might take a moment to study these before I destroy them. And yes, I intend to destroy them.”

“Just remember that people who hold onto that stuff never have a happy ending.”

“Noted. Go on, Champion. If you keep the king waiting too long, he might make you pay him in smelly cheeses.”


End file.
